


From the fragments

by Anonymous



Series: Slave Galen [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Crying, Gang Rape, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Whump, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9776027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: in this version, everybody lives, including Galen. But once they're back on Yavin, things don't go so smoothly. Someone (Draven? Pilots? Idk) decides to 'punish' Galen for his work for the Empire, by abducting and raping him. He tries to keep this secret, but Bohdi figures it out and reveals a similar secret (maybe not rape, but extreme bullying, beatings, etc). They bond further over this and it becomes romantic. (If healing sex is involved, please make Galen bottom - Bohdi deserves to top for once)Based of this prompt.Galen's trials as a captive at the hands of the empire and his struggle to recover after his release.





	1. Chapter 1

The initial months under the empire's control pass, slowly and uneventfully.

Galen is kept isolated, he sees no-one except the stormtroopers, and they never say a word to him. He passes the time grieving for his wife, and agonizing over his daughter, his darling baby girl.

He attempts escape many times, but cannot even find a way out of the holding cells he's being kept in.

He misses Lyra beyond belief, her laugh and her warmth, as he sits alone and forgotten, but he can't help but feel anger towards her.

If only she had left with their daughter. He would still have been captured by the Empire, still been forced to work for them, he knows that eventually he will be pressed into service to the empire. It's a thought that torments him during the long hours he spends alone.

If she had only left taking Jyn, his girl, his precious child, he would have known that his wife and child were free.

He could have endured his captivity and dreamed of seeing them again.

He has no such hopes and dreams now, he spends most of time sitting cross legged on the floor of his bare cell, his back curved and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his grief. 

Every so often, despite knowing the futility of his actions, frantic need will build up in him, to be free, to find his daughter or at least to know what has happened to her, to bury her next to her mother or to build her a life in safety, when the adrenaline surges and the resolution crystallizes within him, the determination to escape builds.

He harness the energy and impetus these moments bring, and seeks to break free of this prison, but the cell is bare, and there isn't even bedding to tear into strips. The walls are bare sheets welded together, no seams he can prise apart, the ceiling with the lighting, and the precious electrical components they require, are high above his head. The door is a huge sheet of steel with hefty bolts on every side including the hinged side that slide deeply into the walls.

He is kept naked so he cannot try to steal and hide things from his captors. Even escape attempts leaves him filled with frustration and self loathing, he knows every day, every hour he wastes here is time his little girl doesn't have.

He doesn't know if she's been found by Saw or if she's already dead. The thoughts and the maybes torment him, every single second he spends in his barren cage.

Once a day a team of stormtroopers bring him food, they don't harm him, even if he tries to fight them they use the minimum of force to restrain him, then they leave him his pitiful meal and they vanish, leaving him to his anguished solitude.

He paces round and round the small space, 6 paces, turn, 4 paces, turn, 6 paces, turn, 4 paces.

Then he begins his rotation again, and again.

Until the misery overwhelms him and he sinks to his knees, screaming, slapping the palms of his hands over the smooth concrete of the floor, the walls and howling out his rage and grief.

No one comes, either to punish or to comfort. His solitude absolute.

The lack of sound unnerves him, and he imagines he can hear voices, or laughter, sometimes music, he knows he's alone and that it's simply his mind's reaction to the lack of stimulation, alone in the dim room where the light never changes and he cannot tell day from night. Where it doesn't matter at all whether it is day or night, because there is nothing, only Galen, alone.

Eventually he cannot even find the will to pace or even sit and instead he lies curled into himself and sleeps. He tries hard not to dream, his dreams make the stark misery of his waking hours only more unendurable.

He's grateful, actually genuinely grateful, when after a lengthy period of solitude, he's long since lost track of the days and nights, he's pulled from his cell, given a jumpsuit to wear, it's gray, clearly second hand, worn at the seams and frayed at the cuffs.

After spending so much time naked it feels odd to wear clothing, restrictive and heavy. He gets marched along in total silence, he tries questioning the troopers but they don't say a word to him and he lapses into silence himself, meekly allowing himself to be dragged along, grief simmering under his skin.

He's herded along into an office, blinking under stronger light than he's seen in what feels like an age. Consoles line the walls and there are other people milling about, after so long by himself the noise of them is like a physical blow.

Idle chatter, coughs, cleared throats, clattering of keys and foots steps all meld together in a cacophony of sound, it smothers the ability to think or even breathe from him for a moment.

He's pushed into a chair by way of a heavy hand on his shoulder, and a tablet is placed in front of him.

Then the troopers leave, the door hisses shut behind them, he immediately goes to see if it will open for him. Unsurprisingly it doesn't, glancing around he can see the other workers stealing glances at him, they mutter to each other and more than a few nudge one another and nod on his direction.

He spends the first few hours trying to engage them in conversation, but they don't give him the time of day, most of them know him he suspects. Or they know of him, he corrects himself mentally, an escapee, who's had to be dragged back to heel, not someone an up and coming young employee would want to talk to. Who would want to be seen dealing with a traitor?

In the end he does back to his tablet, it's locked down to the equations that they want him to solve, he can't use the machine to send a message or to unlock the door.

He refuses to do their work and spends several hours drawing ever more detailed phalluses onto their workings.

It's a senseless act of defiance, but he feels childish delight in it anyway.

It lasts right up until he feels a gloved hand land on his shoulder and breath tickling over his cheek, his whole body tightens, winding itself into stillness. Keeping completely still he slides glances through his eyelashes to see Krennic leaning over him, his body shoved unwanted into Galen's personal space.

Krennic smells clean, healthy, and with him so close Galen suddenly feels acutely aware of how much weight he's lost, how little muscle mass he now carries.

Every instinct he has is telling him to remain still, and hope the man who's hovering over his shoulder like a large predatory bird doesn't notice him.

Krennic takes hold of his tablet with the hand not currently resting on Galen's shoulder and looks closely at it.

There is a pause, then Krennic very slowly sets the device down, with a soft clatter as it's case comes into contact with the polished surface of the table.

Then he slaps Galen savagely.

The impact, sends Galen crashing to the floor, he catches his elbow on the desk as he falls and the jolt of the blow goes right up his arm. He hits the floor hard, knocking the air out of his lungs, he gags and retches, trying to breath. He's just about managed to force air into his lungs when he's kicked hard in the side, he feels his ribs creak under the impact, and the air whooshes painfully out of him again.

He struggles up onto his hands and knees, under a volley of kicks, but he gets kicked hard in the shoulder. It sends him back to the floor and he slides across the smooth surface, hitting the desk. Something falls from the surface and smashes on the floor, and he hears one of  the rooms other occupants swear angrily.

He expects for a moment that one of them will come to his aid, that someone will step up and put an end to the beating, no one does.

The blows come thick and fast, all along him, catching him in his hips, shoulders, one glances solidly across his jaw.

He stops trying to get back to his feet and curls his body into the smallest, most protective ball he can manage to wait out the storm of abuse.

A kick lands in his back and his vision whites out at the terrible pain that engulfs. He feels something within him snap sickeningly.

Dizziness roars up to greet him, he makes one last effort to put an end to the violence, but unconsciousness pulls him down into the darkness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He comes to back in his cell, he's been given just enough bacta to heal the worst of his injuries, but he is still a living patchwork of bruises.

Groaning, he rolls to lie flat on his back, wincing as moving causes the pain in his back to flare again. He breathes as steadily as he can through the pain, keeping his eyes closed as a headache starts up behind his eyes. The bolts of his cell door slide back, the clang of the retreating metal loud in the silence of the room.

The stormtroopers march back in, in formation as always, and Galen is hustled back onto his feet. He sways drunkenly, vision greying, and two troopers reach for him.

He's dragged out by the unit, he tries to keep up, bare feet slipping dangerously on the floor. It's the bulk of the two stormtroopers, that are holding him up under his arms that allow him to maintain pace. As they are marched along he keeps watch as best he can for the path that they take, he thinks they are heading somewhere different than the office that he was taken to yesterday?

He's proved correct when a door slides open and he's shoved forward by way of a hefty blow between his shoulder blades. He's in a similar office, most offices aboard star bases look broadly the same, it has the same desks and consoles but it's cleaner and has a row of windows rather than simply metal walls.

For a long moment nothing happens, Galen stands packed into the small office surrounded on all sides by stormtroopers, then a different set of doors slides open and Krennic walks in with some officers that he's never seen before.

Krennic walks steadily towards him, despite the room being full, bodies melt out of his way so he can easily walk straight up to Galen without having to break stride or alter his path. When he reaches Galen, he stretches out on gloves hand towards Galens face. Galen recoils, but contact is made despite his efforts, the gloved hand closes around his chin, fingers dig painfully into tender, healing, injuries.

Pressure is applied to encourage Galen to tilt his head back, exposing his throat, and he resists. He knows that they won't kill him, they need him, and if they wanted to kill him they've had ample opportunity to do so, despite knowing that he refuses to meekly bare his throat before these strangers.

Krennic raises one arrogant brow, then huffs his displeasure.

Two things happen simultaneously, Krennic slams his knee into Galens groin, just as a trooper hits him hard in his still healing ribs with the butt of a blaster.

Surprised at the sudden, ferocity of his assault, Galen doesn't even register the pain initially. He goes down on his knees a breathy grunt escaping him, from the impact of the gun, then the pain hits. Pain radiates sickeningly up into the pit of his stomach from his testicles, and his newly healed ribs creak alarmingly under the blow he's been dealt.

Galen remains on his knees, panting slowly in through his nose and releasing the breath out through his mouth, waiting for the nauseating agony to subside. He's kneeling half curled over, when a hand fists in his hair and drags his head back.

He looks upwards through now stinging eyes, tears jumping reflexively to his eyes as his hair is yanked, into the masked face of a trooper.

One of the new officers steps forward with something in his hand, and not liking where the day is heading Galen struggles against the hand restraining him.

Which was a mistake he realises swifty as other stormtroopers come at once to their colleagues aid and hands pile onto Galens body, holding him by his arms and shoulders. Realising the futility of fighting a whole unit, while naked and unarmed, Galen allows his body to slump unresisting into the grasp of his captors.

The officer hands the object to Krennic, who steps closer towards Galen.

Kneeling as he is with his head bent backwards facing the ceiling, surrounded by bodies Galen can't get enough data to work out what the device is, until krennick slides it around his neck and he hears a lock snick closed.

Galen lashes out hard at the hands holding him, panic unfurling under his skin in a blaze. The band around his neck feels heavy, and tight. Not so tight as to restrict his breathing but heavy enough that he feels it at every swallow.

All the troopers holding him let him go, and he nearly falls at the lack of resistance to his flailing.

He reaches up to grab at the collar and wrench it free, but as soon as his fingers make contact fire races through his fingers, up his arms and explodes from the collar lodging in his head. He hears himself scream, a shockingly loud noise that startles him. He drags his hands away from the collar, and the pain diminishes immediately, settling to a dull hum rather than the shock of agony it had been when he'd touched the metal.

Quiet laughter draws his eyes upwards to Krennic who's standing before him, looking unruffled and almost bored despite his laughter.

“Don't touch it,” he tells Galen with a smirk, “ it'll fire every time you do something you're not supposed to. And if you still haven't learnt your lesson I can give you a little reminder” His smile grows wider as he pulls a small box out of his pocket. It's about the same size as a lighter, and when he pressed the single button on it, the same horrible pain claws down Galens spine and drills unrelentingly into his brain.

Galen slumps forward screaming, his hands rise automatically to clutch at the collar, his instinct to remove what's hurting him. The collar reacts by increasing the level of his torment, punishing him for his actions. Galen hears his owns screams taking on an even more desperate note.

It takes him several long seconds to force his hands away from his neck, and a few more for his pain level to become something he can bear silently.

Panting, and shaking so violently he can hardly force himself up onto his hands and knees, Galen struggles to get off the floor. Krennic watches his progress then, smiles widely at Galen, the way he had when they were boys together and they were young and carefree, then he presses the button again.

* * *

 

An agonizing jolt wakes him, he screams and curls into a ball, trying futilely to escape the pain. At his scream the pain grows worse, punishing him for the noise. Biting his lip and breathing out raggedly through his nose Galen forces the cries of pain back.

The door hisses open and a smirking Officer appears clutching the controller to his collar.

“Morning, sunshine. Rise and shine.” He singings gleefully, waving the controller. “I thought I'd give you some advance warning sweetheart. I didn't know whether it would work through walls. Turns out it does, funny that. I won't even need to see you in order to have to do this.” Grinning wider he activates the collar again.

Biting his tongue, Galen writhes through the pain until eventually the collar goes quiet and he is able to lie still, panting from the aftermath.

“Up you get, slut. We're all waiting.”

The hairs on his arms raise at the thought of the Imperials and what they might be waiting for, but he pushes it down and struggles obediently to his feet. 

He follows the officer out of his cell, casting longing looks back at it, it's small, cold and cramped but he's safe there, out here he's anybody's game. 

He's gestured into the communal shower block at the rec centre, there are a few people milling about and they stop to chat amiably with the Officer leading him through his routine. “In you go, slut. I've not got all day. Do a good job, gotta be squeaky clean or I'll be coming in after you.” He chuckles.

“You probably don't need the word 'after’ there for that sentence to make sense.” A young man, with strawberry blonde hair, chimes in and the little group laugh.

Nervously, Galen slides down the zipper of his jumpsuit, he hates being naked in front of anyone now. When he'd first arrived he'd been simply embarrassed now it's genuine fear of what they might choose to do to him, it's all been physical abuse so far but the way he's stared at makes his skin crawl. Sliding the cloth down and letting it slip off his legs, he steps out of it, unhooking the material from around his ankles.

Someone wolf whistles and he feels the hot flush of his humiliation spread over his chest and neck. He steps quickly into the shower, turns the water on, tepid water dribbles out and he gets a palmful of the thin greyish soap from the dispenser, and begins to methodically wash himself off. When he has to clean between his legs, he hears more hoots and laughter, he hunches his shoulder and continues, not wanting to be dragged from the shower before he's had a chance to rinse off, they allow him 3 minutes and not a second longer. 

He steps out just as the officer steps up to get him, disappointment flashes in the officer's eyes at being denied the opportunity to punish him. 

“Here.”

the razor is shoved into his hands and he nearly drops it, grappling with it he steps forwards towards one of the little mirror over the hand basins along the wall, snagging up his clothes as he goes. Dressed, the protective layer of clothing covering his body, he steps right up to the counter and begins the tedious process of removing his stubble. Scraping away with the blunt razor, he gradually clears his face of stubble as he'd been ordered. His face feels tight and dry once he's finished the skin on his neck irritated from the rough shave.

“Done? Good. About time. Let's go.”

The officer storms out, his boots making echoing sounds on the tiles as he strides quickly away, Galen jogs after him, afraid to be left behind and be thought of as being lazy.

He is taken down to the engineering labs, the design software is running and there is an empty seat in a corner.

“Sit.” The officer yanks the chair out and points at it, one harsh jabbing finger, Galen sinks obediently into it. The officer leaves without another word. Sighing he turns to the screen pulls up yesterday's work and gets started.

At lunchtime the other occupants of the room drift off, and he's left still working, alone, it's slightly easier to work when alone but it increases his feelings of isolation. His stomach rumbles, hunger clawing at him, a headache starts up behind his right eye. 

Just before the others return he slips into the bathroom and drinks his fill straight from the faucet. He has no doubt that eventually he'll be caught doing it and will be ordered to stop. For now it fills a space in his empty belly and helps decrease his headache to a distant throb rather than an all consuming ache. 

Wiping his arm over his still dripping chin he returns to work, soon after the others return. They bring with them incessant background noise, coughs, constant muttered conversation, and the scents of food straight from the staff canteen. He's heard them whinge at the quality of the food they receive, but it doesn't stop his stomach from growling miserably.

Around 6.30 all the other terminals are switched off and the engineers leave as a single mass, taking all the life in the room with them. Left alone he continues, eyes itchy with tiredness, hours later, legs numb and body sore from sitting so long a different officer appears.

“Alright, let's take a look at what you've been doing today then.”

Galen sits in total silence, not even daring to move as his work is checked, not wanting to irritate the man who controls his life for the time being.

“Is this everything?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmmmmm,” the officer traces a finger over the screen the back over the notes he's got on the desk in front of him then goes back to the screen. “ Tomorrow, I'd like to see more done. Do you understand? You need to apply yourself. Come on.”

Heart sinking Galen stands, he sways a little as exhaustion and low blood sugar hit him, steadying himself hands on the desk he follows on through the base.

“Kneel.” 

At the rapped order he sinks down, his knees protest at being pressed uncomfortably into the cold role of the floor but he doesn't let the discomfort show on his face. 

“Stay there, don't move.”

The officer walks away and returns with a plate, there is a small amount of food on it. Nothing much, half an apple, one thin slice of bread, a small cut of some kind of meat. 

“Here,” the officer jabs the plate at him, it catches him in the sternum and food slides, the apple tumbles off and hits the floor with a wet sound as the sliced edge hits face down. “Eat up quickly, and count yourself lucky I'm feeling generous. You'll need to work harder than that to continue to receive such generous benefits, you know.”

Nodding, while silently hoping the office will stop talking and allow him to eat his food, Galen waits.

“Well?”

At the bad tempered prompt he picks up his apple and bites into it hurriedly, hardly chewing his mouthful before he swallows it painfully down. Shoving more food into his mouth he eats as quickly as he physically can, despite the way his stomach immediately begins to cramp at the sudden influx. He's barely got the last chunk of bread into his mouth when his plate is tugged away, and he's tugged onto his feet and escorted back to his cell. He's not even finished chewing when the door hisses closed and the loud metallic clang of the bolts echoes through the little space.

Wearily he sinks down into a corner, shuffles into the comfiest position he can manage, unconsciousness pulls him down quickly.

He's woken the next morning by an agonizing jolt from his collar.


	3. Chapter 3

Glancing down at the engineering drawings that he's been given, Galen sighs heavily.

They have clearly been put together with no understanding of the physics of space travel or even of basic engineering, the designs are crude and nearly unworkable. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he sinks a little lower in his chair and begins trying to work the design into something that can be used without deviating too far from the original.

He's alone in the office, all the other engineers have gone to lunch, a mixture of superiority and the trouble he carries with him mean that the other engineers do not socialise with him. Most are too proud to want to be seen in the company of a slave, one who had been a traitor as a free man, and the rest are afraid of him. He tells himself that their lack of interest is a good thing and that he's better on his own, but in reality, he's lost and lonely. He wants someone to talk to, who doesn't have a motive to force him into servitude with the empire, just to have one conversation that isn't about the Death Star Project.

Sitting tightly around his neck, just below his adam’s apple, and catching with every swallow, the collar sits, at his lack of activity it begins to send out sharp prickles of pain, reminding him of his work.

Biting back a hiss, he forces his mind back onto the task at hand, before the pain can get any worse. Despite wearing the collar for several weeks now he still struggles with the boundaries of acceptable behaviour that the collar set. The limits of its tolerance are changeable depending on who is around and the orders he's been given, and deviation from these orders results in immediate punishment. The only constants are that he cannot touch the collar and he isn't allowed to make noise above a certain volume when in the company of others. Heaven forbid he draw attention to himself.

It's easy enough to remain quiet and invisible most of the time, no one speaks to him and he has always been fairly quiet and self-contained, however, if he, deliberately or accidentally, disobeys the collar corrects him and the strength of the punishment increases until he corrects his behaviour. At least once he's been unable to figure out what he was doing wrong and had been punished severely, harshly enough to cry out, which had locked the collar into a cycle of dispensing shocks for both his original behaviour and for screaming.

The resulting agony had forced more screams out of him, eventually after writhing under the collars onslaught an officer had appeared and overridden the collar. Galen had lain, sprawled and shaking, the aftermath of the white hot agony still fresh in his mind, his muscles twitching from the overload, his body’s trembling beyond his ability to control, the officer had nudged him over onto his back with the tip of one shiny shoe, before leaning over and regarding Galen with an air of disinterested detachment. Then he'd activated the collar, watching as Galen had convulsed and bitten into his bottom lip in his attempts to keep from tripping the collar again, he'd barely waited for Galen to stop shuddering from the agony before he'd grabbed a handful of Galen’s jumpsuit, dragged him to his feet and ordered him back to work. The collar had sent small shocks through him until he'd been back in the office, working studiously, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

Sighing again, and rubbing at his eyes tiredly, he never gets enough sleep anymore, he got more rest as a fugitive, working as a farmer with a young child, Galen bends over his work and forces himself to concentrate on adapting the designs into something useful. In a way he's almost grateful for the collar, he hates the work he's been tasked with, and failure is not an option, without the constant pressure to remain focused he'd never complete his assigned tasks on time.

He’s just decided that he'll have to abandon large sections of the drawings he's been given when the door slides open and voices begin to murmur across the room. A small tendril of panic flares within him, at the change in routine, normally no one comes here at lunchtime and they can't want any of the other engineers, as they are at lunch, so they must want Galen. He doesn't move or look up, however, he's not been given permission to stop working. So he continues head down, shrinking in on himself and wilting towards the desk as though it might possibly prevent him from being seen.

It doesn't work, he'd known that it wouldn't, it had merely been a desperate attempt to avoid whatever it is these people have in store for him, his name is called, the tone clipped and harsh. The quiver of panic grows, a heavy knot of dread, but he sets down his work and stands up, making his way swiftly over to the newcomers.

The closest one, a balding red haired man, looks him up and down, his eyes catch and linger on the collar fastened around Galen’s throat, smirks, and gestures for Galen to follow. Swallowing back nausea he obeys the unspoken order, falling into step with the officers as they leave the room. He's marched along in silence, flanked by two tall, thick-set men they are both carrying batons, thin, but sturdy clutched tightly in their left hands. Galen recognises a threat, knows they are there to literally beat compliance into him, to top up the collar if they feel he is being difficult. Pain being, after all, an excellent motivator.

They walk up two flights of stairs and into a conference room, there is a large oval table in the centre and various people are sat around it, some Galen recognises and some he doesn't. Krennic is sat in the centre, tall and commanding, he has an expression of polite interest in his face, Galen remembers it from school, it means he's day dreaming.

An overweight man, with a pallid complexion, is speaking, his voice has a whiney quality and he talks too quickly to be easily understood. All the other faces in the room display varying degrees of boredom or frustration, with more than a few of the younger attendees gazing longingly at the door.

Galen is pulled aside by the red headed officer and handed a tray of drinks. Galen looks around for the service droid, assuming he has been brought here for his skills as a scientist and a mathematician. He doesn't see one, and his collar begins to burn, the officer doesn't bother with verbal orders, nods at the other occupants of the room and waves Galen away, loftily.

Galen feels irritation prick at him, there are droids designed for this very purpose, he has work to do down in engineering, being here will put he behind and if he hasn't completed his work, he gets his meals revoked. At a harsher jolt from the collar, he turns away with the tray, surly and discontent, the red headed officers swats at him, presumably, his irritation had shown on his face, catching Galen across the shoulder.

“Which one..?” He attempts to ask the nearest person, a young woman with dark eyes and hair, his collar cuts him off as all the occupants glare fiercely. Galen holds out the tray hoping that she will pick a drink, but she continues to glare at him, cold and aloof, Galen can feel his hands beginning to tremble as pain builds under his skin. He figures out that when he's got the right one the collar shuts off, so he simply has to endure the punishing jolts until he finds the correct glass, then he's able to deposit it in front of its recipient and move on. When the tray is empty he makes to leave, the nagging thoughts of his unfinished work still at the forefront of his mind, but at the door, the collar administers such a blast his knees buckle and he stumbles into the door frame. The resultant clatter disturbs the fat man, who stops talking about budget constraints and year on year targets and instead picks up a controller and points it at Galen.

Agony rolls over him, and he manages to catch the scream in his throat by only the narrowest of margins. Kneeling and panting through his nose, Galen looks back to see the fat man putting the controller down and continuing as though nothing had happened. No one else speaks up either.

The point made that he isn't permitted to leave, he levers himself up onto his feet and retreats to the furthest corner, allowing the walls to support his weight and the safety of his back being protected to soothe him.

The meeting drones on, and on, occasionally his collar prompts him into collecting glasses, but mostly he's left alone. It's almost peaceful, the closest he's had to downtime since they pulled him out of his cell and set him to work. Eventually, the fat man concludes, there is a brief moment's silence then another man, pudgy in an ill fitting uniform, with a face so bland Galen forgets what he looks like while he looks at him, stands up and begins to lecture everyone about paperwork and time management. Galen notices that even Krennic's look of studious interest is beginning to fracture and he feels malicious glee.

As the hour drags by, Galen begins to find himself feeling light headed and exhausted by the mere act of standing still for so long, he is fed at most one meal a day, and he was denied the previous day for some unspecified sin, so his head begins to swim and he's never been more relieved than he feels when the meeting finally draws to a close and everyone begins to pack up.

Half the room escape as soon as the final syllable has been uttered, but the rest linger, forming small groups and chatting. It looks companionable and Galen can't help but remember the days when he would have been drawn into the conversation too, asked about his future plans, his family. He cuts the thoughts off ruthlessly and pushes down his grief.

A clicking noise to his left pulls him out of his reverie and he glances over to see what it was, he sees Krennic chatting to a tall, broad shouldered man, and a few assorted members of staff, a boy chatting up one of the girls from the finance department, their young faces alight. The click comes again and he realises that is Krennic clicking his fingers and for a moment he forgets everything about his new life and looks around wondering who or what Krennic is clicking his fingers at. His collar clues him in by burning against his throat.

“Hey! Come on.” Krennic waves him over, his words are clipped but his voice sounds almost inviting, unable to defy the order, even if Krennic had sounded furious, Galen steps forward. “ This is Eboi Navarr,” Krennic tells him and Galen murmurs hello and holds out his hand.

Eboi ignores his outstretched hand, and instead runs his gaze slowly over Galen's body, Eboi is tall and rugged, his dark blue eyes rake over every inch of Galen's body, and Galen shivers under the weight of the stare, his skin prickling into goose bumps as discomfort builds.

“He needs some extra attention today, so you're going to go with him now and help him for the rest of the day,” Krennic says his voice bland and ordinary but Galen can't help but tense anyway. Something is afoot and his whole body prickles with imminent danger.

Despite his collars protests he forces out, “ I..I’m.. I’ve not finished in the labs.” He doesn't disagree with Krennic he just tries to remind him of Galen's workload.

Krennic nods thoughtfully and Galen relaxes fractionally for a second before. “ You should have. You've had plenty of time, but it's good that you confessed to me, you mustn't be afraid to tell me when you've failed. It's only natural that it will happen from time to time.” Krennic pauses looks away, and thinks, lips slightly pursed, fingers twitching, “ I'll tell your handlers that you're not to be fed.” Galen feels his stomach clench and for once not because he's missing out on a meal.

Having been dismissed from the conversation he can only watch as Eboi thanks Krennic, who smiles benignly at him and nods before clapping Eboi on the shoulder in an almost paternal fashion. Then Krennic leaves, cape fluttering, and Galen is left alone with Eboi.

Wary, heart hammering, despite not being completely sure why he feels so nervous, Galen waits, wide eyed. To his surprise Eboi does nothing, doesn't even look at him just moves off towards the door himself, gesturing for Galen to follow him as he goes. For a split second Galen resists, then at the collars urging he reluctantly follows on, he's already lost his meal for the day, the second in a row, he doesn't want to court any more of a disaster than he can feel is already coming for him.

He follows as Eboi strides along, trying to keep up, muscles aching from lack of nutrition and exercise. Eboi jabs the button for the lift and waits for it to arrive, foot tapping irritably on the floor, Galen watches the shiny, black shoe tap, tap tapping against the floor, a sense of foreboding growing.

“What do you do?” He asks Eboi, hoping for some reassurance, that Eboi will tell him that he's a mathematician or a scientist, his voice comes out thin and reedy though, quieter than he'd intended to. Eboi ignores him or possibly doesn't hear him. “ What do you need help with?” Galen forces himself to speak a little louder, Eboi makes an irritable movement, like he's swatting a fly and hushes Galen sharply.

The lift doors slide open and Eboi steps in and turns to face Galen, who stands rooted to the spot, Eboi makes an impatient head gesture, ordering Galen in. Galen follows, dread surging higher with every step.

Eboi presses a button and the lift moves, Galen catches sight of their reflection in the mirrored paneling of the lifts interior, he notices with surprise that he is slightly taller than Eboi. Only just, but it comes as a shock, he feels so vulnerable around the other man that he feels small in comparison. Despite his minor height advantage, Eboi is heavier, broader through the shoulders and hips, muscled and healthy. The lift stops with the customary slight dip, that sends Galen's stomach swooping with nerves. As soon as the doors begin to slide open Eboi turns sideways and steps out through the gap, closing a hand about Galen's wrist as he does, tugging him along.

Stumbling slightly Galen follows, he's out on a floor he's never been on. It looks nice, there are carpets and the corridor is well lit. Eboi drops his wrist and strides off again and Galen falls, helplessly obedient, into line. Eboi stops in front of a door swipes a reader and the door clicks open. Eboi pushes the door ajar and gestures Galen into the room ahead of him under his arm. Galen pauses, his collar fires, forcing him, he steps reluctantly forwards, his limbs are trembling and he curls his hands into fists to stop them shaking too obviously. Stepping under Eboi's arm leaves him trapped between Eboi and the room ahead, he has no way out now, no retreat.

The first thing he sees when the lights automatically flicker on, in response to his movement, is a large bed. Galen hasn't been near a bed since he was kidnapped? Press Ganged? into the Empire's service, he's missed his own, poor though it might have been, now though the sight of one is sending waves of terror through him as everything begins to make sense.

“No.”

Stepping backwards, he bumps into Eboi, his back meeting Eboi's broad chest, just as the door clicks shut behind him. The snick of the lock engaging the worst sound, since the noise of the weapon that killed Lyra. Eboi snakes an arm around his chest and holds him close.

“No, no, don't.” Galen struggles to articulate the words as the collar protests at him speaking after he's already been ordered into silence. Eboi hushes him again and the collar increases its punishment.

Eboi runs a hand down over Galen's chest, then abruptly, let's go and shoves him forwards, a hand between his shoulder blades. “Come on now, did nobody ever tell you that it is rude to loiter in doorways?” the words are tinged with amusement as though Eboi has said something highly witty or Galen has been amusing.

Nothing about this feels amusing to Galen.

Eboi shoves at him again, pushing him towards the bed and Galen rears back, trying to keep a distance between himself and it, while simultaneously trying to keep away from Eboi.

“Strip.” Eboi stops shoving at him and sits down on the edge of the bed to begin tugging at his laces. Galen stands in his thin jumpsuit, looks down at his own bare feet then watches Eboi's perfectly manicured fingernails picking at a knot in the laces of the right shoe, all the while his collar begins to urge him to obey the order he has been given.

Tears of terror, genuine terror and pain begin to well up in his eyes, his breathing beginning to hitch, his trembling growing worse as the pain grows stronger.

“Strip!” The order is barked out this time and Galen jumps. He raises his eyes to Eboi's face, it's blurry, his eyes are swimming. He startles when his zipper is tugged down, he hadn't noticed Eboi's hands reaching for him.

“Please.” despite the pain he begs, holding his hands out in supplication, pleading to be released. Eboi hushes him once again and tugs the zipper all the way down, cool air licks at Galen's belly and he honestly thinks he's going to be sick. Swallows hard against the threat of nausea, then regretting it as it occurs to him that vomiting might have put Eboi off.

Eboi is not deterred by his tears, or his trembling pleas, he tugs at the material until it slides off Galen's shoulders then pushes at it until it pools on the floor. Galen twitches as his body tries without his mind's input to flee, but Eboi wraps a hand around his neck and squeezes gently while the collar tortures him into obedience.

Naked and vulnerable, he is unable to resist as he is pushed forwards towards the bed, his shins hit the bed frame, but the pressure on his back doesn't relent and he is forced to climb onto the mattress or bend forwards. He skitters nervously onto the mattress and turns over looking upwards, covering himself with his hands as best he can. Hiding himself from Eboi's gaze.

Eboi returns to removing his own clothing and Galen watches in enforced silence, with tears dripping off his face as Eboi's body is slowly revealed.

“Spread your legs.”

Galen closes his eyes tight and ignores the order until the agony of the collar is burning red and hot behind his eyes, then he parts his legs a hair, just enough for it to stop the pain. Panting, he gazes up at Eboi, wets his lips with his tongue, quails as he notices Eboi's eyes track the movement and braces himself for pain as he readies himself to beg.

Eboi removes the last of his clothes and steps up to the bed. “Wider, spread your legs open. They'll need to be wider than that, boy.”

“No, please, please don't, I can't, I don't know..” Galen breaks off into a cough as his throat works and catches on a scream of anguish. The bed dips and Eboi braces on knee on the mattress, then he stops. Pauses, Galen hears his heart beating wildly in his ears for several beats, before a heavy slap lands on his face. The blow turns his face to the side, and while he is distracted, his ears ringing with the force of the blow, Eboi wraps a hand around his ankle and tugs his legs apart.

The mattress dips and moves and Eboi clambers onto the bed and settles between Galen's knees. Galen panics and tries desperately to close his legs. Eboi smirks, as all Galen manages to accomplish is bracketing his legs around Eboi's hips and thighs.

Galen feels his panic rise as flesh presses into his own, and gasping he braces both his hands on Eboi's chest and tries to lever him off.

“Enough!” Eboi snaps, shoving at Galen's hands and reaching down beside the bed. The collar kicks in, dispensing such a kick for his disobedience that Galen feels his whole body jerk in response. Eboi sits up and he's got the controller for the collar in his hand, Galen cringes away from it, instinctively afraid of the agony that the little box is capable of metting out.

Eboi jabs the button, and Galen can't contain the scream, so he is jolted again. The pain rolls through him and his arms give way, Eboi slumps into his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Eboi is heavy, and Galen can feel his breathing becoming laboured until the other man takes his own weight on one hand. Eboi uses his knees to force Galen to spread his legs wider, Galen resists but pain and the weakness of starvation overwhelm him and he panics as he feels his legs being prised further open.

His chest hitches, Eboi runs a hand down his chest and rubs at his abdomen for a moment. Eboi plants one palm on his sternum and leans over to open the drawer beside the bed. He leans back twisting open a tube. Galen watches with horror as Eboi squirts clear gel over his fingers and dumps the tube back onto the bed. Eboi doesn't waste any more time, Galen is held down, one big hand covering the middle of his chest, while another slides between his legs, a finger presses against his hole. Galen struggles desperately, the pain begins immediately, but he's too panicked to stop, the pain fueling him rather than discouraging him, he thrashes under Eboi's grip, determined to get away.

Eboi swears and stabs at the collars controller with his lube covered hand. The added onslaught of pain, drags a cry of pain out of Galen and the collar protests at his vocalisation, increasing his suffering. Unable to remain silent under the barrage, keens of pain slip free, his back arches and he writhes under the torment.

He passes out and the collar automatically resets, when he comes to his whole body is trembling violently, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mouth tastes of blood. Eboi is still holding him down, palm on his chest, the pads of his fingers curling over Galen's collar bones. He is drawing meaningless patterns over Galen's thigh with the dry little finger of his lube covered hand.

When Galen opens his eyes, the finger on his leg pauses, Galen shuts his eyes tightly again when he feels the fingers return to press against him. He unconsciously tries to close his legs again, but only succeeds in bracketing Eboi. The fingers press in, two together, large and invasive. Galen feels the breath in his lungs leave him in a rush and tries to struggle again.

Eboi leans a little harder on him and it makes drawing a breath difficult. Galen tries to twitch away as the fingers spread painfully, digging in deeper then twisting out only to be forced back in. Eboi leans down, so his face is close to Galen's, “you should stop struggling,” he whispers conspiratorially, “you really don't want me to skip this part, this is for your benefit, not mine, lie still or I won't bother.” He pauses looking down at Galen, his head cocked slightly to one side before adding, “and if you do keep on like this, I'll be sure to mention to your Masters that you need more training.”

Galen goes still at the implications, this has never happened before so he doesn't know what would happen if Eboi does do that, whether he would simply be punished further or whether he would find himself being trained. His shaking is worsening into whole body judders, that he cannot control.

“Are you going to be a good little whore?”

He doesn't nod, can't bring himself to, but the threat of it, the threat of more rapes makes him force himself to go limp. If this is going to happen, and through his terrified dread he thinks that it is, then surely it's best to keep it a secret, to only be forced once? Now that action and definite defiance are taken from him all that's left is passivity.

Galen covers his face with his hands and turns his head away as much as he can. Eboi chuckles and goes back to prepping him, twisting his fingers and adding another when he forces them back in. “Good boy, that's a good slut, take it.” Galen wishes he could drown out the sound of Eboi talking, he keeps his eyes closed behind his hands and endures, ignoring as best he can both Eboi's actions and his own tears that are leaking out from beneath his clenched lids.

Eboi pulls his fingers out roughly, they catch on Galen's rim and Galen hisses at the sharp tug of pain it causes. All the breath in his lungs leaves as he feels something bigger and hotter than the fingers pressing up against him. He twitches as his instincts scream at him to get away, pressing himself downwards into the mattress away from the length that is up against him, trying to escape.

There is no escape and Galen smothers a whine as he is speared open, he pulls his hands away and grapples at the sheets grabbing handfuls desperate for something to hold onto. Eboi forces his way inside with one long thrust, Galen shakes as pain claws up his spine. Eboi doesn't pause, doesn't show any mercy, just pulls back at once and begins to thrust.

Galen cannot prevent the grunts of pain escaping but his collar does not account for his efforts at obedience and punishes him regardless, the pain from the collar adds to the dull, clawing agony that is radiating up his spine and down his legs. He clutches tighter at the sheets, gripping them and twisting his fingers into the fabric desperate for something to hold on to, to get him through the next few dreadful minutes. He feels, ridiculously, as though if he lets go he'll fall, he won't, he can't but his instincts scream that he mustn't let go.

Eboi works an elbow under Galen's left leg and pulls, folding Galen underneath him, Galen flinches as the angle inside him changes, deeper, dragging even more painfully.  His body twitches in response and his own foot catches his attention, he hasn't looked up at his feet for years, a distant memory emerges of being a young boy on Grange lying flat on the floor with his legs pressed against the cool walls of his bed room during the hot, humid summers. Gazing up at the ceiling through tear filled eyes, he notices how dirty his bare foot is and feels a moment of insanely intense embarrassment over his lack of hygiene.

The new position reduces his ability to struggle, removes his leverage to press away from Eboi, it makes breathing harder too and simply adds to make his situation even more unbearable. The back of his thigh aches with the strain and the thrusts send waves of pain through him.

He covers his eyes with his hands, like an overwhelmed child, hiding his face and trying to block out what is happening to him. Trying to muffle the garbled noises of pain and protest that keep slipping out past his teeth, despite his best efforts.

Eboi’s breathing gets harsher and the thrusts become jagged, rougher. “ Look at me.” Eboi's voice is strained, Galen ignores him, enduring the increased pain that the disobedience brings. Galen winces as his hands are dragged away from his face, his fingers brush against the collar and the consequences are immediate.

His back arches and he cannot bite back the shriek of pain that leaves him. Eboi drops his hand, as though it's burning hot, but his hips jolt and he moans.

For a moment they both stare at each other, then Galen tenses as Eboi grabs his hand again,  Galen struggles trying to prevent him, Eboi links their fingers and stabs his hips forward savagely, while taking advantage of Galen's distraction at the agony the movement provokes. Eboi presses Galen's hand firmly against the collar. Which reacts again.

As his back arches under the onslaught, tears streaming down his face and inhuman howls of pain echo off the walls, Galen feels a rush of warmth within him and realises that Eboi has found pleasure in his agony.

His hand is held tightly, Eboi's heavy weight and strategical position making escape Impossible, and he passes out again.

Groaning as pain assails him, Galen is aware of is a banging headache, Eboi is still slumped over him, breathing raggedly into his neck. Hot, damp skin presses into his own, and Galen feels sickness well up within him. Eboi pulls out and moves back, leaving Galen's body raw and agonizing, he feels a slide of wetness trickling down his leg and his body aches viciously even after he's alone in his body again. Galen watches feeling dizzy and numb as Eboi rolls off him, walks away, grabs a communicator then heads to the fresher.

Galen doesn't move from the curled huddle on the bed, too exhausted and pained to even begin moving, his body quaking in the aftermath of his assault and his mind seems to have shut down and he can't get himself going. He doesn't know what he should be  doing. He was almost absently as his body trembles violently, it's as though he's watching someone else, looking at a stranger coiled and crying after an assault.

Eboi returns and makes an agitated, irritable noise at the sight of Galen. For a moment despite knowing it's not possible the numbness drains away and Galen feels real horror at the idea that maybe Eboi wants him again. He clumsily clenches his legs together ignoring the pain in his hips and wraps his arms around his body, he struggles into a sitting position, dragging his knees to his chest and trying to hide behind them, trying to hide his nudity.

Eboi walks over and grabs his arm, tugging him roughly up and off the bed.

Galen winces as standing causes more liquid to trickle down his legs, he doesn't know if its blood or other.. fluids, the ache in his lower body blossoms into pain as he is made to walk. Eboi grabs his clothing off the floor and holding Galen by the bicep with one hand and the jumpsuit in the other he opens the door and manhandles Galen out into the corridor.

Galen stands shocked as the door is closed in his face, leaving him alone in the corridor his clothes dumped onto the floor beside him. His legs are shaking, and his body is aching as he stands gingerly, bewildered and shocked. He stands for a moment looking at the closed door unable to process what has just been done to him.

Footsteps sound down the corridor and it frightens him into action, suddenly desperate to conceal what has been done to him, to hide his pain and shame, wanting to keep this a secret for fear of what others would do if they knew. He crouches get his clothes, moving causes bolts of pain to coil through him. He feels rearranged as though he has been unmade and that he won't be fixable.

He is just trying to balance on one foot, trying to shove his other leg into his clothes, the pain in his lower back and belly leaving him clumsy and unbalanced, when to his horror a small group of Imperials appear, while he's still naked, there are four of them, an Officer and three troopers.

The officer looks him up and down, rolls his eyes, and pulls out his nightstick, Galen freezes, instincts screaming at him not to cause any more problems for himself.  

"Right, what's happened here, then?" The officer trails the nightstick over his hip towards Galen's genitals. Galen stands utterly still, only inhales sharply and watches warily for the officers next move.

"I was ordered to-"

Chuckles cut him off, and the nightstick shoves harshly at his inner thigh. Frightened, swear prickling over his skin and his heart knocking at his ribs, he reluctantly widens his stance a little.

"Used you hard, were you?” the officer enquires, his voice full of mirth and Galen closes his eyes to keep the tears pricking at his eyes from sliding down his face adding to his humiliation. The soft chuckles of the 'troopers is the only noise in the corridor, beyond his own laboured breathing, hitching and catching wetly, his next swallow is loud and almost a sob. The officer sniggers, beginning to circle Galen's still naked, quivering body.

Galen feels the hairs on his arms and legs rise into goose bumps at the predatory prowling, the nightstand is trailed over his skin, knocking along his newly prominent collarbones and circling under his arm. The officer stops behind him and Galen feels the breath freeze in his chest. The nightstick is trailed down his spine, it just grazes over the cleft of his buttocks. Panic stricken he stumbles forwards away from the implicit threat, terror of being forced again so soon wells up. He blunders forwards and the stormtrooper ahead of him reaches out to steady him. Dropping his clothes in his panic he steps back again, away, and his back bumps into the chest of the officer who has stepped up behind him. 

A thin whine of terror is the only sounds that escapes him, more laughter is his only response. The trooper runs a finger along the edge of one of his cheekbones and taps him under the chin as though he's a small child being coddled by an older relative.

At his reflexive startle the men laugh harder, "what's up sweetheart? You don't seem very pleased to see us?" Galen hunches his shoulders miserably, shame setting over him like a fog, but doesn't reply and to his great relief no one insists. The officer steps back around, shoves the nightstick back into his belt, "as much as I'd love to play with you, some of us do have to work. But don't worry." His eyes flicker over Galens bare body and he shudders miserably, clenching his hands in front of himself trying to cover himself. " We're not going anywhere."

The officer grabs his arm and pulls him forwards Galen has a moment to wish that he could just be asked to go, he would still have to obey but just to be spoken to rather than tugged and moved about as though he's an inanimate object, but then the aches and pains of moving drive all the thoughts from his head except for the need to walk as gingerly and carefully as possible to avoid further pain he allows himself to be marched along assuming that they will be heading for the med bay, humiliation and anxiety coil within him as he imagines the Medical staff questioning him and examining him. He doesn't want to be touched, prodded and poked, but no one is asking him what he wants. Nobody cares what he wants. 

He is marched along, the officer pulls the nightstick back out of his belt and taps it along Galen's upper back and shoulders as they walk along, hurrying him with no regard for his injuries. They step into the elevator and he has a moment of blinding déjà vu, everything feels distant and surreal and he almost falls. A sharp tap with the nightstick on his hip jolts his back into the present, pain flares, more than he would have thought, he glances down and sees small marks littered across his hips, his thighs and his waist. He looks forward and swallows hard, his breathing hitches and his eyes and throat burn with unshed tears.

The doors open and he's shoved forwards again, he staggers and the movement jars in tender places, the hiss of breath obvious. He isn't given a chance to recover, is pressed on. 

He blinks confused as the door to his cell hisses open as they approach it, having expected to be marched  a past it straight to the medbay for treatment   and- _No_ , he realises, _no, not for him. They said he'd been used, not-,_ his mind skitters away from emotive words, _not what happened to him_. He's their property they don't think _that_ can be done to him. He is pushed roughly into his cell, his clothing is dropped in with him and for the second time in a quarter of an hour a door is closed in his face.

Alone in the half light of his cell, cold, naked and in considerable discomfort he shuffles into the furthest corner from the door and slides down to sit on his hip, sitting normally hurts. He tries not to remember why.

He tries not to think about the damp, itchiness between his legs or the raw pain in that place that no one had touched before today.

Alone tears crawl over his face and his collar lets them pass without incident

 


	4. Chapter 4

Back in his cell, Galen struggles to steady his emotions but it's like he's drowning. He feels so utterly hopeless, he hurts,after..after he'd been bundled back into the cell and his jumpsuit had been dropped onto the floor along with him.

He's only allowed one shower every three days and he'd had one before work this morning, he now has to spend the next two days covered in the evidence of his assault.

The damp, stickiness between his legs causes Galens stomach to roil uneasily. He's not been fed though today so there is nothing for him to vomit. Instead he just curls awkwardly around himself salivating with nausea.

He closes his eyes and tries not to think about how desperately he wants to wash, to clean the taint of his rape off his skin. To scrub the scent and the touch of the other man off him.

A rough sob breaks out, and he hurries to suppress it, but the collar let's it go, no punishment necessary while he's alone.

He works on steadying his breathing anyway, he knows that tomorrow he'll have to go through his normal routine, without any aid or comfort.

If he can't complete his work he will be punished by the collar or now he fears in another, worse, way.

He doesn't know if this was a punishment, he hopes beyond anything except for Jyn’s safety that it is, that the cause of today's torment has been something that he has done. If its his mistake, if it's  some disobedience on his part, he will correct the action. He will behave in away that ensures that such an action never reoccurs.

He can hardly bring himself to acknowledge  that today might just have been someone taking a fancy to him, and his superiors handing him around like a tin of biscuits. He knows that if it is the case, that if he has been used as a treat or simply because someone has wanted him, rather than as a deterrent to bad behaviour, then there will be more occasions like today. He knows that he will be raped again. 

His whole body revolts at the very thought.

He huddles naked into a corner of his cell and tries to sleep, to cease to exist for a little while.

* * *

 

The next day is hell on earth, his whole body feels like one big bruise. With every step he's forced to take his lower body twinges in response. Just sitting on his chair causes bolts of pain to coil through him.

He needs to concentrate on his work to avoid being shocked, but his mind revolves uselessly on his rape. The discomfort of merely sitting ensures that he cannot forget and bury himself in his work. He's horrified to find that his eyes keep filling with tears and he's forced to blink them back or try to surreptitiously wipe his eyes.

One of the others in the room points out loudly that he smells, and he hangs his head, knuckles tightening on his tablet, shame curdling in his belly.

He knows he smells, he can smell himself, the scent of sweat, sex and lube surround him everytime he moves, making him feel sick with shame.

He can't do anything about it though, despite knowing he wouldn't receive sympathy from anyone, the dismissal of his torment cuts deep and he spends the rest of the day reeling from the emotional impact of the past few months.

As he's being taken back to his cell in the evening, reeling with exhaustion and pain, he sees Eboi coming towards him and his whole body seizes in protest. But without even breaking stride the officer sweeps past, as though he hasn't even recognised Galen.

He probably hasn't Galen thinks bitterly. Why would he remember a slave, it's he who will remember for the rest of his life.

 


	5. Chapter 5

He's sitting at his desk, shoved away in the corner of the room, his desk literally touching the wall. In the weeks since he came to Eboi's attention he has been sought out by several other officers.

Despite his best efforts he has not been able to go unnoticed, he hasn't been cornered often, but on several occasions he's found himself being edged into empty rooms, or dragged into bedrooms. He's been bent over several tables and been pulled, protesting as much as he can with his collar, into different beds.

It doesn't happen every day, not often enough for him to grow used to their actions, but not so rarely that he can ever truly feel safe.

  
Each time he's forced into a stranger's bed, or bent over a work surface his body reacts as though it's still a virgin, rejecting the forced penetration with everything it has, which only really results in awful pain.

All the other scientists and engineers are getting to their feet around him and he fixes his eyes in the tablet in front of him desperately ignoring them. They are all going to lunch, and he hopes that no one will bring theirs back to eat here.

He's not been fed for two days, his meal yesterday was disposed of after some infraction on his part. He wasn't told what it was, but he was made to watch, tears on his face, hunger gnawing at him, as his rations were poured into the disposal.

They file out, in groups or in dribs and drabs. He rubs a hand over his belly, trying to soothe the sick empty ache. The door hisses behind the last one, and he's left alone. Sitting hunched and hungry at his desk, the collar won't let him rest, he's not been given permission to stop.

He's just started a complex problem, squaring the whole equation to reduce j to -1, when a hand falls on his shoulder, and a chin drops onto his head, while a body presses along the line of his back.

“Get up.”

He freezes shock dulling his senses, but his collar kicks him into gear and he stumbles to his feet to escape the pain. An arm curls around his belly, and the other around him chest, hugging him backwards into the body behind him. Every muscle tightens in denial. He's been abused by some of the officers but bar mockery and name calling no scientist has tried to hurt him like _that._ Not in the engineering department.

He can feel the hardness against his hip and knows that his grace period has come to an end. The hips behind him thrust gently, pushing the hardness into him firmly. He shivers with disgust, before turning his head trying to see wondering if he can beg to be released, or if that will just make everything worse.

As he turns, he's shoved forwards and he overbalances, and nearly falls. The weight presses steadily down until his chest meets the desk and the body blankets his back heavily.

“Please,” he gasps out, fear and misery prompting him to speak out, he's anxious not to miss another meal too, he needs to finish his work.

Like always he's ignored, and the hand at his chest tugs at the zipper of his jumpsuit, yanking it down, then stripping the scant protection of the material off his arms and pulling it from his torso, pushing it down his thighs. He no longer owns underwear, so he is left exposed, bent over and vulnerable.

“Please,” he begs again, “ please no, i can't please, don't, don't..”

“ Shhhh.” His attacker hushes him gently, a mere whisper of sound, cutting off his begging for mercy.

His eyes burn with tears as his collar throbs as his voice stutters to a stop, forced obedience to his rapists demands. He clenches his thighs together, defensive and protective despite knowing it will do him no good.

Clothing behind him rustles and he braces himself for fingers, he hopes for lube. To his shock and horror he feels an erection being pressed against his unprepared hole. “No!” He blurts desperately, struggling forwards, before stilling at the collars instance, it has hurt every time this has been done to him, and so far he's always been prepared at least a little, fingers, spit, once or twice actual lubricant to ease things for him.

His collar corrects his outburst and a sob breaks free causing another jolt. He holds his breath to prevent any more sounds emerging.

“Shhh, shut up, just shut up, you like this, whore, you'll like this.”

He cringes at the harsh words and a few tears slip free.

The dick is pressed again against him, harder pressuring at the entrance to his body, forcing it's way past the resistance of his body. He sobs again a full body shudder of misery as the head of the cock is forced into him, stretching him before popping through his rim.

“Shut.Up.” The dick is dragged out and forced back in, just the head, spreading him.

Then in a hard thrust it is seated completely inside him, and he bites his lip hard to contain the shriek of pain, tears leak over his face, and his body's trembling is beyond his control, his ribs heave with silent sobs.

Silent they may be, but they are still unacceptable to his rapist. Who kicks hard at his calf.

“Stop it. Stop crying. You love it, slut. Stop crying.”

At the order his collar begins to punish him for his tears, and he wipes his face roughly with his fingers before shoving them into his mouth to stifle his sobs. His collar lowers it's punishing jolts, reacting to his attempts of obedience.

Galen hunches in forced silence enduring his rape, as stoically as he has been ordered to. He screws his eyes shut to fight back further tears and locks his throat against the sounds of agony and the burning lump of his misery.

It seems to take forever, each thrust sends flares of pain up his spine and down his legs, his pelvis hurts and his bowels cramp horribly, but eventually, when he's barely able to suppress his sobs any longer, and the tears are sliding free, one after another, earning him jolt after jolt from the collar, his rapist stills and he's filled with a warm rush of wet. Stinging, and sticky it's pumped into him, and he clenches his teeth on a sob.

The cock is pulled free, and the other man leaves. For a moment he doesn't move from his crouched huddle, but then reality catches up with him, now one engineer has had him, more will try. He knows this, with a dreadful, dull sense of certainty. He needs to get up, he mustn't entice anyone else through his positioning. His merely helplessness is enough, too much.

He levers himself upright his hands on the desk to keep his balance. Tears slide free as he stands, forced out from the grinding pain, and the bolts of agony through his belly. His collar hasn't realised the imperative for silence is no longer there and it shocks him. He blinks hard knowing he hasn't the luxury for misery or tears. He clenches and reaches painfully down to pull up his clothes, righting himself.

Covering his nudity.

He shuffles over to the fresher, and once inside wipes away blood and the other _fluids_ that are between his legs.

He stands in the small space and rubs his eyes fiercely, forcing back any further tears, determined to spare himself any more pain that he can possibly avoid.

After a moment he gathers some more paper and goes to wipe up any spilled blood, or other messes.

Having cleaned away the evidence of what was done to him, hiding away from the threat of more of the same he is left with no further options but to settle down and continue his work.

He's just finishing his equation, jaw set against the threat of further tears, his hands trembling, forcing his breath back to regularity after every hitch, when the others return.

Filling in, some still carrying the remnants of their meals, despite everything his stomach still growls at the scents of food, they sit at their desks.

One stomps over and sets the fan going, remarking pointedly at the smell, his heart sinks.

It drops into his boots when one man laughs and runs a hand over his chest. Galen blinks hard to stop the tears but one slips free. It causes a wave of laughter and a punishing jolt from his collar.

* * *

 

After losing another space in which he could be safe Galen stives to become invisible, and works as  hard as he can to prove himself as more useful as an engineer  a than as a sex slave. He does the work the empire sets, keeps his head down as much as possible and strives to be invisible, to escape notice as often as he can.

* * *

 

A year or so into his extended, all inclusive stay with the empire, he starts getting called in to meetings as more than a waiter. Krennic and the other higher ups expect detailed briefings on the current state of his project.

The first time he goes clutching a folder full of the relevant documents, he has to address the whole room, he forces himself to make eye contact but once he gets started it's like he had never been away, he confidently answers their questions and fields their misgivings about any of the details of the Death Star Project.

It's the first time he's enjoyed himself in what feels like a lifetime, but he enjoys being competent and in control for once. Once he's explained every single aspect of the project, he's allowed to sit down, the rest of the group discuss other topics around him.

Galen sits, fully dressed, having been allowed to act like a full member if the team rather than a slave for once, and revels in the distinction. After the meeting ends and everyone is filling out of the door, a hand falls heavily on Galens wrist. He goes still in an instant his body has learned hard lessons over the past few months, and it stills into obedience before his mind can even comprehend the dangers.

It's Krennic, his hand is tight around Galens forearm and he smiles at Galen softly, the skin around his eyes crinkles into crow's feet, for a moment he looks just like the boy Galen has known.

Then he kisses Galen. Hard.

His lips force Galen’s bruisingly against his clenched teeth, the pressure of the kiss tilts Galens head back, and his neck muscle strain against the movements.

Krennic's tongue swipes over his lips, and he presses them together, his thighs unconsciously clenching protectively in unison. His collar protests his disobedience, and Krennic takes  full opportunity of his gasp of pain, slipping his tongue into Galens mouth.

Galen hasn't been kissed since his wife died, his sexual encounters since his capture have not had his pleasure or comfort, or often, even his safety in mind. His mind at once recoils from the kiss and sinks into the comfort of a familiar, painless, sexual practice.

Kissing with Krennic is very different from kissing his wife, they are much of a height and the dominance of the other man is frightening, and physically it feels very different too. Stubble is grazing across his own and Galen is very aware of the strength contained in the other body.

The kiss deepens and Galen is quickly running out of air, breathing difficult due to the force of the kiss, he's too afraid to protest though, he's growing light headed when Krennic pulls away.

Galen snaps his teeth closed and presses his lips tightly together again. Beyond Krennic's shoulder he can see the few remaining scientists still in the room, more than a few of them are smirking, one is outwardly rubbing at his groin. Galen’s heart sinks.

To his relief Krennic has enough self restraint to wait for them to leave before he makes use of Galen's body. As he's bent roughly over the table, and his body is claimed by violent, forceful thrusts that can only be meant to cause him pain, Galen reflects on his previous thoughts of being valued for more than as simply a hole to use and brain to calculate. As the cock within him speeds up, knocking bruises into his hips as he's jolted against the desk, he plots a way to bring an end to this, both the empire and himself. He knows now, forehead pressed to the shiny glass surface of the table, heavy hand on his back, high up near his neck, keeping him in position to be raped, that his only escape will be into deaths willing embrace.

Afterwards when his body is once again battered and bleeding, hating his body for it's apparent inability to get used to the endless abuse, he curses himself for a fool for going to their stupid meeting unprepared, it's so rare that any of his rapists take the time to work his body open. If he knows he's going to be handed over he does it himself with oil he stole from the lab once.

It's that theft that has taught his how he can circumnavigate the collar, if he steals, or does any discrete act of disobedience while performing a more obvious one for the audience. He will be punished by the collar for both nobody will question his pain. Like a magician he has become skilled at the subtle art of misdirection.

After the horror of the first time, Galen works himself open each and every time he is called to appear before the councils with his plans.

He isn't held back every time, sometimes he's sent straight back to work, but before long he's been used by enough of the attendees that all those at these meetings know that he attends and gives his speeches with lube creeping between his buttocks.

They mock him mercilessly over his discomfort, until the it gets to the point where Galen cannot shift in his seat without provoking a wave of laughter and a flurry of names, slut, whore, bitch, being flung in his direction.

* * *

 

He's caged up against the wall, the bodies of two engineering scientists and an officer block his path.

“Hiya, slut. Have you missed us?” The officer asks, his grey eyes are bright and his hands slide down Galen's chest.

“I.. sir, I'm supposed to be going to-”

“And now you going to be helping us to come! Irony, huh?”

“Sir, please, I-”

“Shhhhhh.” The younger of the engineers places a finger over Galen's lips while hushing him, “I know, I do, I know, you're a busy bunny, but you need to come and work for us now.”

Galen leans into the wall behind him, letting its support keep him on his feet as his knees shake, anxiety sits high in his chest and he can taste iron in his mouth.

The zipper of his jumpsuit is slid down, the noise of it barely audible over the breathing of the men, loud and lusty from three, quick and terrified from Galen.

“Come on,” the other engineer, a chubby plain faced man in his mid thirties, already balding, with a face that could somehow be 12 or 50. The officer grabs the now loose collar of his jumpsuit and drags him away from the wall, the loss of it's support so sudden he nearly falls, and into a nearby room, the door slides shut behind them.

The lights flicker on and all three men descend on Galen as though they had never stopped, a whine of terror escapes as the younger engineer, flops them both to the ground, Galen’s body cushioning his from the impact.

Galen grunts as he is roughly stripped, “please,” he begs unable to submit without trying to prevent this, “please, don't.”

“Shhhh.” The finger is pressed back over his lips, cutting off his begging to be released. “ You don't have to do anything, just roll over and take us in, won't even take you long if you stop messing about, then you can head straight back to work. You won't even notice.”

Tears well up in his eyes as he listens to the officer, he wonders if they believe that, that their use of his body has no effect on him. For a moment he nearly forgets their hands on his body and wonders whether they think he has grown used to their assaults or if they deem him so inhuman that they don't believe he even has emotions beyond his work.

Hands grab at his hip and he's rolled over, Galen shuts his eyes tightly and bites back the stream of pleas that wants to escape, it will only make this worse.

The door behind them slides open and Galen lets out a sob of dismay, assuming it's more Imperials, more people who will make use of his body.

“What's going on?”

Everybody freezes at the sound of Krennic's voice, the only sounds afterwards is Galen's breathing hitching and catching as he lies pressed into the floor, the heavy weight of one of the engineers across the back of his thighs, a hand pinning his left shoulder to the floor.

“Erm, well, we were just-”

“Making improper use of departmental resources?”

“Sir, I didn't think that.. well I mean everybody does it, sir.”

“Hmmmmm.” There is a long pause while Krennic considers, Galen struggles to see over his shoulder and the hand holding him down loosens. He half gets up, locking his elbows and curving his spine to see over his shoulder, looking at Krennic. They make eye contact and for a they both stare at each other, for a second Galen thinks Krennic is going to give them permission and leave, instead he clicks his fingers at the nearest one.

“No, come on leave him, you come on get up. Yes, you.”

The weight leaves his legs and he scrambles to his feet, fixing his clothing as quickly as he can with his shaking hands.

“Come here,” Krennic orders him, his tone clipped as he points at the found next to him. Galen hurries to obey, desperate not to be left with the other three men. Krennic grabs hold of his wrist and tugs him along, now there is something pressing against his arm, Galen can feel his pulse thundering.

Krennic tugs them through the corridors and into his quarters. Galen has not been inside Krennic's quarters since they were both officers of the Empire, it's exactly what he would have imagined if he had ever bothered. There are all the honours that Krennic has ever been given displayed on walls, any prizes he's won sit on book cases and side tables. Pictures of Krennic little his own walls, Krennic has stamped himself on ever since meter of his space, aggressive and brash.

“I take it you still have work to do on our project?”

“Yes,” looking around the room for a console, he is caught by surprise when a slap lands on the side of his face.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another blow lands, the crack of flesh meeting flesh is loud. The blow doesn't hurt at first his face is numb under the impact, before the heat blooms then arcs into pain.

“Yes, _what?”_

“Yes,” Galen stares at Krennic stumped then flinches as he raises his hand again, to his surprise Krennic lowers it again slightly.

“Yes, Master, that's what you should say to me, or would you like to go back to the labs now? I'm sure those boys will give you a warm welcome.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good boy.” Krennic raises the hand again, and Galen flinches expecting a slap but Krennic merely waits until he's still then strokes his face before turning away to grab a tablet and some paper from his office and dumps them in front of Galen on the floor in the corner of the room. “ Now I expect to see a decent amount of progress done by the time I return. I've been very good to you today, so see that you repay my generosity or next time I won't be so quick to step in. Do you understand?”

Swallowing hard, Galen forces himself to repeat, “ yes, Master.” He means it to come out strongly but it leaves his lips as barely a whisper.

“Good.” With that Krennic turns, his cape spins out behind him, and leaves the door slides shut behind him and Galen is left alone.

Not daring to touch any of the furniture he sinks to his knees, then as there is no one else here settles back and crosses his legs in front of him, pulls the tablet towards him and begins to draft a report in the materials that they will need for the core of the Death Star.

Hours later when Krennic returns, Galen has carefully ensured that all his work is saved and ready to be viewed, Krennic accepts the tablet and the papers, sits in the comfy armchair while he pours over the reports and notes.

Galen stands close by, awkward and anxious, waiting for Krennic's verdict on his productivity. Hoping with every fibre of his being that he's done enough to pacify Krennic, to please him, he tries hard not to hope that Krennic will ensure that the other officers and scientists are banned from their sport but maybe it will be less frequent if Krennic needs his direct input more? It takes nearly half an hour for Krennic to finish reviewing his work, by the time he puts the work aside Galen is vibrating with nerves his hands are clasped together so tightly they hurt, his fingers white and numb.

“This is adequate, I expect to see more work of this calibre. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Well, you've had your little break now, haven't you? I suppose it's time for you to go back.”

Galen swallows nervously, his belly clenching at the thought of returning to the danger of the world beyond Krennic's rooms, here he has only one man to fear, out there its dozens. “Yes, Master.” He murmurs meekly.

“Come on,” Krennic pulls himself up out of his chair, and sets the papers down on the desk in his office, closing the door on them and opening the door from his quarters to the corridor outside. Galen follows exhausted and miserable, Krennic leads the way through the base and Galen stares at his shoulder blades as they walk along, nothing in his peripheral vision that the base gets less and less sophisticated the closer they get to his cell.

“Sir!” At the sudden shout Krennic screeches to a halt and Galen all but steps on the back of shoes trying to stop in time. The young man who'd shouted them, a tall heavy set man with prematurely greying hair and hazel eyes, and predilections that Galen knows on an intimate level, strides over. “Sir, would you like me to escort the prisoner back to his cell?”

Galen goes still, knowing how any time alone with this man will end, dread curdles under his skin, and he hangs his head to hide his facial expression he's sure he's not able to adequately conceal. Krennic looks from one man to the other and weighs the offer. Galen stands helplessly while Krennic mulls over his fate, not daring to speak up in case he annoy Krennic or hurry him into a decision.

“No,” Krennic says slowly, eventually, “no, thank you, Miller, but I won't be talking Galen back to his cell tonight. You offer is appreciated though.”

“Oh,” Miller looks almost adorably crestfallen at the denial, but he shakes himself pretty quickly, “ no problem. Goodnight, sir”

“Night, Miller, see you at 0900.”

“Sir.”

Krennic doesn't move while the departing footsteps fade away, once they are alone he turns slowly to face Galen, regards him silently for a few moments, then turns back, “ come.”

“Yes, Master.” Galen follows Krennic, back down the corridor, heading away from his cell now, his sole thought on where they are going and _why._

He is bewildered when Krennic simply returns them both to his quarters, opens the door gestures Galen inside, then without a word he heads into the fresher leaving Galen standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Heart beating too quickly, hands hanging at his side's while he desperately tries to figure out what's happening. Twice now in one day Krennic has prevented Galen’s assaults, has ensured that he will be allowed to pass unmolested, but he's never done it before.

Krennic returns, still damp from the shower, hair plastered wetly across his skull, a towel slung across his shoulders. “Come.” He orders, turning and heading towards his bedroom. Galen follows silently, bracing himself, trying to convince himself that one time is vastly preferable to four, possibly more times and that he should be grateful. The vaguely horrifying thing to him, is that he is grateful, once is better than four times, he can't deny it.

Krennic tugs back the sheets as he stands next to the bed, Galen hovers a few feet away, Krennic turns, points at the corner of the room, “you may sleep there.” He tugs to uppermost sheet of the bed, a thin, slightly itchy navy blue cover and balls it up to toss at Galen. It hits him in the chest and falls to his feet, where he looks down at it, wondering what on earth he should be doing with it, taking it to laundry?

“Kren-Master?”

“Go to sleep.”

Obediently he takes a few steps back until his back hits  the wall then slides down until he's sitting on the floor in the corner, the sheet abandoned a few meters away.

Krennic makes an overly dramatic sigh, picks up the sheet and comes over. “ Lie down.” He says it as though he's talking to a toddler, there is softness in the time but exasperation too. Galen obeys, toppling onto his side, his back to the wall his knees pulled up to his chest. Krennic shakes the sheet out and drapes it over Galens huddled form, he turns away climbs into bed and turns out the light.

Galen lies in the darkness, the carpet is the softest thing he's been allowed to rest on in years, he doesn't dare move for fear of disturbing Krennic and bringing about a premature end to this heavenly display of care. The sheet draped over him, gives a feeling of safety and he feels warmer than he has in months.

Closing his eyes, letting the security of the wall at his back soothe him, he sleeps.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Kneel.”

The young officer stares down at him, and wearily Galen sinks to his knees. He's only been on this base for a few weeks, but the young officers here have watched his every move out of the corner of their eyes. He's been expecting and dreading this moment ever since he realised their interest in him.

The young man comes up behind him and kicks at his ankle, forcing him to widen his stance, and places a hand on his back and the other on his chest pushing and pulling until he's kneeling with his back straight and his head down.

“This is the correct position, and the one you will adopt every time you are ordered to kneel. Do you understand?”

Galen nods, swallowing, but it isn't enough to appease the younger man who kicks him hard in the hip.

“DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND.”The words are articulated loudly and clearly as though he has a very limited understanding of English.

“Yes,” he mumbles, “I understand.”

Even his verbal agreement doesn't pacify the young man, who kicks him again and Galen struggles to keep his balance and not fall flat onto his face.

“Yes..” The young man prompts and grabs a handful of Galen’s hair, dragging his head upwards so that Galen has to look at his face, he keeps his eyes averted from his tormentor and stares hard at his chin.

“Yes.. sir?” he replies questioningly, hoping that it's the right response and he will avoid being kicked again. To his relief the officer lets go of his hair and pushes his head back down, and he obediently fixes his gaze back on the floor between his knees. He wishes he could be braver and stand up to them, but he's badly outnumbered and he fears the punishment of his collar.

“Stand.” One of the other officers ordered, he's a young man, all blue eyes and dimples and he looks as though he couldn't possibly be about to torture another person, and yet Galen thinks, and yet here they all are.

Sighing inwardly, he raises to his feet and stands warily, waiting to be told what he's doing wrong. The men surround him, kicking at his ankles again, forcing him to widen his stance.

“Shoulders back, hands on your head, eyes down, don't look at your betters, boy.”

Swallowing back his bitterness at being called ‘boy’ in his forties by a man young enough to be his son, he obeys the orders before his collar has the chance to step in and demand his compliance. They poke at him and adjust his position as though he was a mannequin for a few moments before they step away.

“Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Down.”

Galen blinks, and pauses before his collar jolts harshly, and he slides onto his knees to make it stop. On his knees he pauses, unsure. Hands shove him into position, and he is manhandled onto his hands and knees. He waits feeling his body clenching at the vulnerable position, and he flinches harder when the men step up to him.

Immediately his collar is activated and his arms give out as he screams, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Don't move unless we tell you.”

“Yes, sir.” Galen rasps, wincing at the roughness of his own voice.

“Down.”

Obediently, he shoves himself back up onto his hands and knees. This time he manages to remain still as he's shoved into the correct position.

“Floor.”

Galen lowers himself face down onto the floor,  and allows the men to correct him.

“Back.”

At the order to rolls over and lies flat on his back. “No.” Dimples tells him and grabs Galens legs. Galen stops himself from flinching by the narrowest of margins, and allows the boy to force his legs back and submits when they force him to wrap his arms around his knees.

“Like that.”

Galen looks up, and nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

There is a long pause and Galen locks his hands behind his knees afraid to let his legs slip and lose his position.

“Kneel!”

At the rapped order, Galen moves into the position he was taught. The men kick and prod at him until he's to their satisfaction.

“Down.”

Galen drops onto his hands and knees and endures their touch.

“Floor.”

“Kneel.”

“Back.”

“Stand.”

The orders come thick and fast and he scrambles to move from position to position quickly enough to not get shocked. He struggles to remember the difference between floor and down and each time he gets it wrong he is punished by the collar and then the officers top it off by manually activating the collar again.

“Stand.”

After more than two hours of practice, after a fourteen hour day, without food, he is weary. As he struggles to his feet after being in the back position, his head swims and he staggers then falls.

He crashes to the ground painfully, banging his knee, and his collar flares. For a moment all he sees is white and he can't hear anything over the ringing of his ears.

He's grabbed, and shaken hard, his head lolls despite his efforts.

“Naughty.” A voice chides, and he blinks his gaze fuzzy trying to establish who is talking to him.

He's dragged to his feet instead and at the movement his stomach clenches and his skin beads with sweat as nausea washes over him.

He forces it down afraid of the consequences of vomiting, he's been beaten for crying he doesn't want to imagine the punishment for vomiting.

He is dragged from the room, and he's grateful for the support but afraid. He tries to gather himself as they move along, but they don't walk far, before he sees one of the officers coming back towards them. Galen looks at him, wondering when he left, and the officer nods at them. In response the men supporting him hustle him along a little quicker.

A door slides open, and he is shoved inside. The door slides closed and he looks up dreading what he's going to see.

His stomach drops when he sees the barracks.

Immediately, he turns and tries the door, he's unsurprised when it doesn't open, but he's too afraid to not keep trying. The barracks have been a threat that has been levelled at him for months and he's been deathly afraid of it.

At the sound of steps, he turns and can't bite down the gasp of terror that slips free at the sight of at least half a dozen men coming towards him.

They walk over, as he presses backwards against the wall, trying to disappear. When the first man reaches out he screws his eyes shut, childlike, as though blocking them out will make everything stop.

It doesn't. A hand closes around his bicep and he's tugged away from the wall. He struggles, but his collar activated as he gasps as agony rolls over him. He's yanked away from the wall and more hands land on his body. For a moment he hates everything, with the collar he can't defend himself and he bitterly resents it. Then as more hands land on his body the feelings fade and he's left with the full hatred of himself.

He's forced down to the ground, a leg in front of his feet and a foot pressing behind his knees. Heavyweight follows him down, he ends up kneeling and his shoulders are forced towards the floor, someone kneels on his hand, twisting it so they kneel on his palm, his knuckles grinding painfully into the floor. He can't tug his hand free without dislocating his elbow or his shoulder. Instead he's forced to crouch awkwardly.

His clothing is tugged, and for a moment he resists then before the collar can shock him he relents and allows his clothes to be removed, before it can be torn off him. It's his only item of clothing and if he loses it he'll have nothing else.

Once he's naked, hand slide over his body and he trembles, fingers dig into his flesh and hands part his buttocks. The men in the room talk amongst themselves and he tries to calm his thundering heart long enough to listen.

His head is shoved down and he goes with the guiding pressure, allowing his face to be shoved into the floor. All at once he's flipped over onto his back, the man kneeling on his hand didn't move quickly enough  and his arm is wrenched. As soon as his back hits the floor he is set upon by several different men. His arms are pinned, his hand is knelt on again. His legs are pulled wide and held firmly flat to the floor, a palm lies flat on his forehead and pushes his head down so he can only see the ceiling above him and the men close to his head.

Fingers press between his buttocks up against his hole, and he twitches trying to close his legs. There is a wave of laughter, and a knee digs into his thigh as the hands holding him down reposition, getting a better hold on him, refusing to allow him to escape.

The fingers press in hard, twist roughly, nails scraping against his insides. Galen goes limp, his chest heaving as his distress and terror grows. The hands holding him down don't relax and he is held roughly as the fingers prep him briefly, before they are tugged out.

He tries to brace himself for the inevitable sting of penetration, while simultaneously trying to relax and make the penetration easier. He tries to lift his head up and see what's happening but the palm against his head doesn't let him and he has to wait tense and anxious as he feels one of the troopers move up between his legs.

Galen panics as a body presses against his own, and he tries to struggle but weighed down by five other men he is overpowered and helpless.

He can't bite back his moan of distress as the cock is forced into him, tears forming in his eyes at the pain.

The wave of laughter from the surrounding men, causes him to flush and squirm trying to get away, when he can't he makes himself go limp again, closing his eyes.

The thrusts are savage and it feels as though he's being shunted across the floor, prevented only by the bodies holding him down. The movements tug at his pinned hand, and it's just another source of distress.

The man between his legs grunts and grabs at his hips, before grinding upwards and Galen arches away from the presence inside up as best he can, a cry of pain escapes him. Another wave of laughter washes over him, tears of agony slip free, creeping down his face, pooling in his ears, running through his hair.

Warm wetness fills him and he feels relief for a moment, before reality catches up with him. The man between his legs pulls out and gets to his feet, Galen waits for the men holding him down to switch but to his misery none of them move and instead another body slots between his thighs.

He swallows a gasped sob, at the realisation that there are more men than he'd realised in the room. The new man between his thighs thrusts into him, where he is still raw and open from the first man, this man is rougher even than the first but he doesn't last long before he is pulling out and coming across Galen’s groin. Then man holding him down do shuffle around this time and then there is a different body between his thighs again. This one doesn't get straight to the rape, and instead runs his hands over Galen’s body, rubbing at his nipples and pinching at the crease of his thighs.

“Save it for your girlfriend, just fuck the whore.”

There is some good natured joshing between the men, as Galen lies, pinned between them like a butterfly in a collection or a meal to be devoured. Pinned and helpless.

The latest trooper grins at his mates and takes their advice, sliding his cock into Galen with one long brutal thrust that knocks the breath out of him, and forces more tears out of his eyes. One of the men holding him down, by kneeling on his bicep and having a fist planted on his sternum the knuckles digging into the bone, grating painfully, just another source of distress, raises his free hand and wipes away one of his tears with a thumb, then smears it over Galen’s lips.

Galen closes his eyes tightly, and endures.

He tries not to count the violations as they occur, it makes it all seem so much worse somehow. He isn't terribly successful, his scientist’s brain cataloguing his abuse in vivid detail, as he is used again and again. Men rape him, then pull roughly out only to be replaced by others.

“He's bleeding.” After pulling out one of the younger troopers announces to the room. “It's fine.” One of the others scoffs dismissively.

Galen wants to object, but stays silent not wanting to cause more trouble for himself.

He tries to let himself go limp and unresisting, allows the men to position him and use him as they will, too afraid and pained to put up any resistance. Too hopeless, he knows that resistance will be met with the collar and blows from fists or boots.

He's turned over onto his front and he tries to lock his arms, support himself, but at the rough thrust into his body his arms shake and he nearly falls, another man comes up to him and grabs his chin. Exhausted tears slip free, and a rough sob slips free, he is crying in earnest when a cock is rubbed over his lips and forced into his mouth. He is caught between the two men, and is jolted between them roughly, pain claws through his belly and his jaw aches until at last the man buggering his face pulls out and comes across his face. The man between his leg finishes to and he is left alone, for a moment. He slumps down, and slowly falls onto his side. The man behind him slumps over him, breathing heavily and Galen endures the press of the others flesh into his own, he turns his face to the side and rests his face against the cool of the floor, his cheekbone rests against the ground.

He's left there and some of the men drift away, to his relief and he is left as some of the men wander towards their beds and the lights dim. For a moment he thinks it's over and he curls into a little ball, trying not to put any pressure on his injuries and ignoring the fluids going tacky on his flesh.

To his dismay a hand is dragged across his hip, and another body comes down over his. Closing his eyes tight he goes limp, let's the stormtroopers arrange his body to their satisfaction. Let's then use him, too conscious of the fact that his body can only take so much before it quits, he feels like he might be heading towards his limits. The less he resists the fewer reasons they have to hurt him.

Limp teeth gritted, Galen endures, locking his cries of pain in his throat.

The morning comes, eventually, he only realised when all the men leave, they file out of the door and he's left in a bloody, cum stained heap on the floor.

When he's certain that they have all gone he begins to struggle to his feet, his arms shake violently as he levers himself up. His breathing fractures into sobs and it takes him whole minutes to manage to stand, ignoring the wet slide down his legs, a trickle of something running behind his left knee, Galen tries the door.

It doesn't budge.

Desperate he hammers on the door, calls for help, somebody, anybody to open the door and let him out.

Eventually his knees give out and he slides down, he kneels in front of the door, rests his forehead against it, let's the suppressed tears slip down his face one after another.

As time drags on closer and closer to the time when he figures the Stormtroopers must return, his dread grows until it's all he knows, he burrows into the corner furthest from the door, the bed's are too low for him to fit under.

Stiff and cold he waits.

When the door hisses open he doesn't dare uncurl from the little huddle he's hidden himself into, he shuts his eyes and prays to the force for salvation. Or death, anything to prevent what's coming.

As happens so often now his prayers go unanswered, a heavy hand curls around his ankle, he's dragged out, legs all around him. Like bars on a cage.

He's pinned on his back, Galen gazes at the ceiling and tries not to let it show on his face as they hurt him.

He's too pained and dispirited to move the next day, he lies where they leave him.

Days later the door hisses open during the day, Galen doesn't move, he lies, his face resting on the ground, his body bloodied and raw.

A loud sigh draws his attention, dragging him closer to reality, he wishes it wouldn't, it hurts more the more conscious he is.

Strong hands work their way into his armpits, and he's pulled upwards a little. His head lolls on his neck and the supporting hands shake him.

“Come on, behave or I'll leave you here.” Krennic's harsh tones echo above his head flatly and it takes him a few seconds to parse the meaning from the words.

Struggling upwards, trying to get his leaden limbs to obey, Galen does his best to obey. Krennic pulls as Galen pushes with his legs and they manage to heave him upright between them. Krennic steps forwards and drags Galen along with him, it takes everything he's got to not cry out at the agony that lance's over him as his injuries are jostled.

Biting his lip until blood runs down his chin, Galen concentrates on each step as it comes, until he is allowed to drop to his knees. Shivering with pain, he’s so focused on remaining conscious and upright he starts when Krennic drops a hand onto his shoulder.

“Alright, let's get you in the tub. What have you been doing to yourself? You're filthy. Such a dirty girl.”

Forcing himself to move, and ignoring Krennic's gibe at his gender, Galen allows himself a sigh of total relief as his body sinks into warm water. The heat eases the ache of his wounds and even as the water stings it feels cleansing and therapeutic. Krennic appears at his side holding a washcloth, he dunks it into the water and then slides it down Galens arm. Galen reaches out to take it but Krennic slaps his hand away sharply.

“Leave it.”

Galen sinks back into the water, the jolt of the collar almost indistinguishable amongst the cacophony of preexisting pain. Even after three years of servitude to the Empire he still hasn't quite managed to become accustomed to being spoken to like he's a troublesome dog. He fights to keep his facial expression neutral and keep the spark of rage off his face.

He sits stock still in the tub and watches as dispassionately as he can as Krennic slides the washcloth over his body rinsing away the evidence of what was down to him.

It takes four changes of water, sitting shivering as the tub is emptied and refilled, before he's clean enough to meet Krennic's specifications.

He's tugged from the tub and Krennic drops a towel over his body, Galen clutches it to himself, the thick material trapping a layer heat next to his body. Between the surprisingly gentle care and the warmth he's dropping off, and he's barely aware when murmuring voices approach him.

Hands slide under his knees and behind his shoulders and he's lifted, carried and then set down. There is carpeting under his body, protecting him from the floor, the pinch of a needle into his upper arm, jolts him closer to the waking world but the warm rush of drugs in his veins keeps him limp and blankets his emotions under a weight of false calm.

He can smell bacta, thick and medicinal, impersonal fingers spread it thickly across his body, and Galen becomes aware of rapidly lessening pain.

“...-...tank?”

“No, not that serious…”

The whisper of conversation flows over him and Galen allows sleep to pull him under.

* * *

 

The first time they make him come, is when Galen begins to feel his resistance crumble. He'd felt powerless for several years now, he'd had his mind turned against him when they started using his genius to build murder weapons. They had turned him against himself using the collar to ensure his obedient compliance to their wishes, but it's when they finally turn his body against him using pleasure that he feels his spirit breaking under the strain.

Nobody has touched him there, not for years, not unless they wanted to hurt him at least. Even Galen himself has avoided that area as much as possible. Ever since he lost his shower privileges he's had precious little opportunity to masturbate, by the time he gets back to his cell at night he's normally so exhausted and wrung out it's all he can do to remain on his feet long enough to get away from the door and curl up in a corner before he passes out.

Occasionally he wakes up hard. Mostly the terror of being caught that way is enough to flag his erection and he is able to hide it until it goes away completely on it's own. He knows full well that the guards would take his morning erection as an invitation. They take everything as a hint that he is looking for their attentions. If he cries they say he must be missing them, or is dry eyed, he's tempting them. If he is dressed he's being coy, when he's naked after they strip his clothes away he's asking for it. The very thought of being caught with a hard on causes his belly to twist in terror. 

Even when his fear isn't enough and he has to get rid of his arousal by other means he still doesn't enjoy his own hand on himself, not any more. When he does get himself off, it's an exercise of speed, trying to come as quickly as possible before he gets caught, masturbating is fraught with apprehension and anxiety.

Having now learned, been trained that a hand on his dick is upsetting, he twitches in the hold of the latest rapist to take their use from his body, the press of fingers to his arousal frightening on an instinctive level after all these years in the empire's hands.

Jerking away, despite how instinctive it was, causes the man inside him to shift and the thrusts into him continue at a new, more painful, angle, and a jolt from the collar burns down his spine and through his head greying his vision. Desperate to avoid another punishment he bites down hard on his lip to prevent any noises of pain or distress slipping free, blood oozes around his teeth and begins to run between his lips.

The hand around his cock squeezes, and begins to stroke. The pain of this latest assault is enough to prevent him from getting truly hard but he can feel himself reacting to the pressure of hands on him. Despite his terror and the pain he begins to thicken slightly, he man inside him stills for a moment and chuckles. The noise is muffled a little where the man's mouth is pressed against Galen’s shoulder, but it still sends waves of total shame through his body. Against his will tears burn at his eyes and before he can even think of blinking them back they are slipping free, curving over his cheeks and dripping off his jaw to drop onto the floor. Galen sniffs and blinks frantically, looking upwards trying to keep any more tears from slipping free. Tears often anger his handlers, some find them merely irritating, whereas others like to pretend that Galen enjoys being used by them, his tears rob them of their delusion of choice and they are often keen to punish him for their disappointment.

The imperial inside him pulls out, and Galen's heart stops. His breath hitches in his chest, and a cold sweat breaks out over his skin. He bites back his instinct to beg for mercy and freezes waiting for the blow, or his collar to be activated. Flinching or cringing will only anger his tormentor more.

To his surprise the violence doesn't start. Instead two fingers rub at his hole, the thumb tucked up near his tailbone brushing his skin as the fingers are thrust into him. The Imperial angles his fingers and presses them hard into Galen, searching for his prostate. Heat runs up his spine, causing goosebumps to break out over his flesh, as the two fingers find their goal. The fingers rub over the sensitive spot inside him, his hips jerk and the hand around his cock squeezes, to his horror Galen feels his dick twitch and begin to harden further in the other man's grasp.

The Imperial’s chuckle rolls over his skin, and Galen flinches hard, unable to stop himself from trying to get away from the intrusive fingers. The fingers inside him follow his movements.

“Stay!” 

At the rapped order Galen stills, obedience literally beaten into him, he obeys without even thinking about it. 

The fingers don't pause rubbing over his prostate, stoking relentless and impossible to ignore. The Imperial’s other arm is still wrapped around his hip, his hand still circling Galen's cock. The fingers thrust him forwards forcing his cock further into the Imperials fist, and Galen can't prevent his breathing from picking up and his hips from beginning to move on their own accord, back into the pressure of the fingers and forwards into the pressure of the gripping fingers. Galen can feel the sweat beading on his skin, beginning to slide over his ribs and down his spine.

The fingers push into him harder and faster the fingers around his cock move quicker, up and down his length, while twisting and squeezing as they do. He peeks down between his arms, looking between his legs. His cock is purple, there is precome bleeding out of the tip. Strings stretching towards the floor, before breaking off and pooling on the tiles under his belly.

Galen chokes on sobs of misery and anguish even as his hips move faster into the twin points of pleasure.

His muscles begin to clench, ratcheting tighter as the pleasure grows, his belly clenches, his hips jerking uncontrollably. Tears flow, faster down his face, his breath hitches wetly, his hands ball into fists, but he can't prevent his hips moving. His balls draw up, his body shaking, he's juddering in his rapists grasp. 

When he comes, he sobs once, the noise loud and ugly. He clings desperately to the pleasure that washes over him, curling his toes and sweeping over his skin, unwilling to let it go and have to face what's happened.

“You liked that didn't you?”

Galen doesn't say anything, he's shaking violently, the aftermath of his orgasm still rolling through him, making him feel heavy and awkward while his mind blanks in self preservation.

It's almost a relief when the Imperial pushes into him, bottoming out in one hasty thrust that knock the breath out of him. Oversensitive, the thrusts hurt and drag small whines of pain out of him, but they prevent him from thinking about what he's done. Intellectually he knows that orgasm is a physiological response to stimulation but emotionally he feels wrecked. The thrusts inside him grow faster and rougher, the cock within his tearing through his insides brushing and rearranging him for the other use. The hips against his ass stutter, ball pressing against his taint, the prickle of pubic hair uncomfortable, the cock within his grinds deeply, once, twice, thre- before there is a splash of wetness and the Imperial is groaning loud and long against his shoulders. Mouthing bites and kisses into his back and his neck.

There is a long moment, while the Imperial continues to thrust into him before the softening cock slips out of him, the Imperial sprawls heavily against his back and Galen can feel his breath hot and damp against his skin. 

Eventually the man rocks back onto his knees and stands, he smiles down at Galen, who can't make himself hold eye contact, glancing away blinking furiously as misery catches at his throat. His worn jumpsuit is dropped onto his legs and the door slides closed. Galen is left alone, grimacing he climbs to his feet and shuffles forwards to the fresher. He cleans himself up, ignoring his trembling hands and dresses. Covering his body, trying to hide away from further predation. 

Back in the labs he works hard, head down eyes on his screen, until his eyes are blurring with exhaustion and his throat is aching with unshed tears. He is given his meal, two slices of bread and half and apple, and he tries to stop himself trembling with anticipation in case it angers his handler. Thankfully the man isn't paying attention to him. 

Back in his cell he curls into the corner rests his head on his arms and forces himself not to think about the day's events. Shame curdles under his skin, he know logically that he couldn't prevent what happened but the shame is pervasive.

In the morning he realises, to his mortification, that the Imperial has told the others about what happened or at least a version of what happened.

They cheer as he walks down the corridor, there are wolf whistles and hands grab at his ass, his crotch as he walk. Shame, horror and fear coalesce in his belly, his shoulders cinch tighter as he walks. He's settled at his station, sorting through the new requests in his in tray when one of staff from another base runs her fingers around his lips. 

He jerks away, startled, it's rare a woman touches him at all these days and he's discomforted by the sexuality of her touch. To his surprise he can no longer imagine himself as the proactive party during sex, if this woman wants him he struggles to imagine how he can bring himself to please her. The though of getting hard and fuckinh her makes his head swim and his stomach clench with nausea.

She laughs, her face open and pleasant, then turns away, her blonde hair fanning out behind her as she does.

All day long he endures the mocking of the others, they nudge him in the ribs and laugh that he must have loved it. A couple of the younger lads make exaggerated sex noises, mimicking a body in the throes of an orgasm, every time there is a lull in the background noise and each time the whole room laughs. Except Galen, each time he bites his lip and bends further over his work, hunching down towards the surface trying desperately to remain invisible.

At the end of the normal working day, he doesn't think he's ever been more relieved to see the back of the rest of the engineering staff, alone he gets a little respite. It's gone 10, his eyes are gritty with exhaustion after a fourteen hour day when the head of department comes to him and shoos him away. He has to wait in the corridor for his handler, he's not been fed, or released from duty, it's an anxious wait, everytime he hears a noise he panics his heart rate kicking up, afraid of what's coming to get him.

Eventually Novawar comes to get him, Galen hopes for food and longs for nothing but the chance to rest before he's woken and put to work all over again. His hopes die painfully when he's marched past his cell, as much as he hates the dingy little room he's agonized to be hustled away from it.

Novawar ushers him into a set of officers quarters, they are neat and almost empty no personal knick knacks or photographs set it apart as someone's home. Galen kneels in the closest corner and strives to appear invisible, he wraps his arms around his torso, hugging himself tightly, talking comfort in the pressure. He closes his eyes and breathes, inhaling, holding his breath until his lungs ache with it then exhaling, trying to remain calm and composed in the face of what's to come.

“Come here, Slut.” Novawar calls him over as though he's a dog of which Novawar is particularly fond, voice soft and inviting. Galen rises to his feet and approaches but hangs back just out of reach.

Novawar gestures at the space next to a chair at the dining table and Galen sinks to his knees, grateful for the thick carpet cushioning his knees from the floor. 

“Eat.” Novawar presses a bowl into his hands, and Galen doesn't even look at it, just accepts it gratefully. He's not given utensils so he begins to sip at the contents. 

He nearly drops the bowl in shock when he realises that it's warm, Novawar doesn't look up from where he's eating his own meal so Galen turns his sole attention to consuming as much of the meal as he can. It's some kind of stew, mainly gravy and vegetables but there are a few hunks of meat, tough and chewy. After months of gruel, when he's getting fed at all, it's so good it brings tears to his eyes and Galen can't prevent himself from hunching over the bowl while he practically inhales the contents. He finishes before Novawar but that gives him plenty of time to run his finger around the inside of the bowl, gathering every last scrap of sauce, licking away every last morsel of food from the bowl, getting the benefit of the nourishment he's been permitted. When it's all gone, he still clings to the bowl, clutching it to his chest, until Novawar finishes and pushes his chair back from the table a little. Novawar turns and looks down at Galen still huddled at his feet. Galen looks at him from under his fringe, wondering how he will be required to demonstrate his gratitude for his meal. He knows that he will need to serve with his body, but isn't sure whether he should be offering his mouth, or his ass. He's not had the chance to prep himself today and he's hoping that his mouth will satisfy Novawar. 

Novawar slides a hand into Galens hair, fisting a hunk near the nape of his neck and uses it to tilt Galen's head back. Then he kisses Galen, automatically Galen opens his mouth and sucks on the tongue that immediately plunders his mouth. 

The kissing is not uncommon, some of the officers like to treat him as a lover up until a point, what is unusual is Galen's reaction to it. Normally any sexual contact is something to be endured. He can't escape or prevent them from using his body, so he closes his eyes, goes limp and waits for it to be over. To his astonishment heat rolls over his skin as Novawar tongue licks into his mouth, and Galen finds himself shivering. His hands rise to clutch at Novawar forearms without his conscious input.

Novawar chuckles into his mouth, and the vibrations feel nice, Galen moans before he can stop himself. 

Novawar pulls back, and Galen moves to follow, to chase after the kiss, before his mind catches up with him and he forces himself to stop. Bewildered he looks up at Novawar, who smiles down at him and runs a finger around his lips, like the woman had earlier before pushing a single digit into Galen's mouth. Dismayed Galen finds that even the feel of Novawar’s finger sliding over his tongue is making him feel hot, aroused. He twitches when he realises that he getting hard in his pants. He remembers the laughter and the mockery of the others and wonders suddenly if they are right to call him a whore, if they are right when they say he likes it. 

To his dismay it seems as though his body does like it, as Novawar pushes a second finger into his mouth while holding Galen's head steady by his hair. Galen can't keep the moan from slipping free and it's loud in the empty room. Novawar smirks and pulls his fingers free.

“Come on.” He hooks a hand under Galen's elbow and tugs, standing up himself as he does so. Galen allows himself to be tugged to his feet, feeling his interested cock rub against the inside of his jumpsuit as he does so. It sends hot pleasure up his spine as he moves. Galen follows the tugging hand, his head is light and his thoughts muzzy.

He is shoved forwards, he nearly falls as his feet catch and it's only the hand on his arm.that keeps him upright. The door is opened, and it takes him by surprise as he hadn't noticed Novawar move enough to do it.

He is still trying to work out how it happened when he is propelled forwards, a hand between his shoulder blades.

It's a bedroom, he should feel terrified or anxious or something. Instead his thoughts feel distant the only thing that is clear and tangible is the heat in his belly and the need between his legs, the way his skin itches with the need to be touched.

Novawar murmurs in his ear and he can't make out the words but the cusp of breath over his skin makes his hips twitch and shivers run down his spine as arousal pools in his groin.

He's edged further forwards, nudged gently until he moves, and he giggles as he is maneuvered, it strikes him as amusing but he can't quite put his finger on why.

He's nudged onto the bed and he falls onto the mattress, his body bouncing on the soft surface for a moment before stilling.

A hot, heavy body comes down over his and he moans. Hips press into his and there is friction against his aching arousal. He moans again, his spine curving, bowing upwards to get more friction where he needs it most.

Lips nip and suck at his neck, and Galen closes his eyes, feeling hot and dizzy as his arousal burns to greater heights.

Galen opens his eyes, then slams them shut again as the light burns at his retinas. He moves to sit up and at once nausea washes over him, he flips back down and lies still swallowing hard to prevent his stomach contents from escaping. A headache flares into life behind his eyes, and he has to fight back a moan of anguish at the hurts that assails his body.

“Hmmm, still eager are you darling?”

Galen jerks in surprise having not realised that there was anybody else present then wishes he hadn't as his stomach roils unpleasantly at the motion. Clamping both his eyes and his lips shut he lies as still as he can, a hand trails up his leg and despite how awful he feels his skin prickles with want and his blood begins to pool in his groin.

“Yes, definitely eager, aren't you. Such a whore.” the voice chuckles into his ear again. 

Tears blur at his eyes, but he keeps them closed and doesn't give them the opportunity to fall even as the man rolls on top of him and slides a finger into him where he's raw and aching.

Despite the sickness, his body responds to the press of fingers and even more so when the fingers are replaced by a cock. The man's moans set his teeth on edge, but his toes curl as his prostate is battered by the length within him.

To his shame he spills between them, moments before his abuser spills inside him.

Back in his cell his head swims and his vision keeps blurring. He lies in the heap he'd been dumped in presses his fevered cheek to the cool of the cement floor and drifts in and out of consciousness.

“How did you manage it?”

Galen sits rigidly in his seat, pretends to keep working even as a flush of shame creeps over his neck.

“We all saw him, he was covered in cum. How did you break the little ice queen?”

“Easy lads, just a little cocktail is his food and you can have him writhing and eager in your cock. He clearly needed it too, came like a geyser. Didn't you slut?”

He looks down at the works he's supposed to be doing, he can't even remember what it is, all he can see is his fingers white from the strain with how tightly he's holding the device.

“I said,” a hand slides through his hair, then tightens cruely on a hunk, tugs his head back so he's looking into the faces of the men. Their happy, eager faces. “Didn't you slut?”

“Yes, sir.” He chokes out.

* * *

 

Galen has spent the last couple of years adding minor adjustments to the plans, he has an idea that will cause the destruction of the empire's greatest weapon.

He can only make tiny adjustments to the schematics at a time, he has to be very careful. He makes his adjustments normally while knocking something else off his desk so the resultant shocks from his collar go unquestioned by anyone who may be nearby, then he has to wait for a meeting or a higher up to sign it off before he dares to make another adjustment.  

He only dares to change even the slightest bit of the designs once he's come up with a particularly long winded and in one sense truthful answer to why it must be done, then if he's ever questioned he can ramble on for at least on hour about structural integrity or ease of manufacture until everyone's eyes have glazed over and they all agree with his assessments to make him shut up.

The constant drilling of his obedience has its effects though, it doesn't take much gang rape to get results and soon Galen decides that he does best when he doesn't think just turns his mind of and obeys. He drifts through several years of captivity in this manner only surfacing out of the haze of his utter submission to his tormentors to tweak his designs, edging them gradually towards his end goal of annihilation.


	7. Chapter 7

 

He's been unwell for a few days, nothing specific. Just generally unwell, his bones ache and his head hurts, the kind of thing that, when he'd been a free man, would have sent him down to Medical for a few tablets and if he'd followed it up with a good night's sleep he'd have felt better. He doesn't have those luxuries now, so he's been struggling on with a  fuzzy head trying to get through the work he's set and relishing in any chance he's given to rest.

He's sitting at the desk struggling to fill in the requisition sheets, they've been kicked back at him twice now and he needs to get them done.

He doesn't register the hiss of the door opening or look up from his work in time to notice Krennic’s arrival.

When the blow lands on the side of his face he falls, catching the other side of his head on the corner of the desk as he hits the floor. He feels a bone break, the red hot agony that fills him, let's out a strangled scream of shock and pain before quickly biting the noise back. He lies on the floor, catching his breath, trying to work out if he's broken his jaw or his cheekbone. He can't localise his pain, he just knows he hurts.

“What did you do?” Krennic looms over him and he only recognises the figure through the haze of his tears, through the art of long practice.

He shakes his head, stops as the pain in his face ratchets up another notch.

“What did you do?” Krennic states the words slowly and firmly, reaching out a grabbing a fist full of Galen's jumpsuit.

He's hauled half upright, and a file is shoved in his face.

“It didn't work. The simulation you set up didn't work!” Krennic snaps and slaps the file over Galen's face, before dropping it roughly at his feet.

He reaches out with shaking hands, his heart hammering as he tries to figure out what mistake he made. It takes him only a few moments when he glances over the figures. It's a simulation to map the flight paths of the Death Star and he accounted for the weight of it in his model but forgot to add the weight of the fuel. The whole thing will have run badly if they can have got it to run at all.

“Master,” he slurs, his voice funny. He slides his tongue swiftly over his teeth to check if he's knocked any lose. “it was a mistake.” He jabs a shaking finger at the numbers. “I forgot-” the rest of the sentence is forced out of him in a huff as he is kicked in the ribs.

“You forgot. You _made a mistake?_ ” Krennic hisses the words and he recoils away from the anger in the other man's words.

The words in his throat dry up and he is only able to nod, dumbly, up at the angry man in front of him.

“Oh, is that all? You simply forgot. Not likely is it? Well, just to be on the safe side, I'll give you a little lesson in remembering.” Krennic steps back and clicks his fingers at someone.

Galen feels hands close about his biceps, then begin to tug at his clothes. He looks pleadingly at Krennic, a desperate attempt to prevent this latest punishment. “I forgot the weight of the fuel,” he blurts desperately, “Master, please, I forgot the weight of the fuel, in my calculations.”

“Shut up, Slut.” Krennic says sounding bored, it's the first time Krennic has called him anything but his name as far as he can remember and it shocks him into silence.

The nearest trooper clicks a set of cuffs around his wrists and another one tugs his jumpsuit off his legs and dumps it onto the nearest desk. He twists trying to keep an eye on it, more concerned about losing his clothes for good than he is about the latest assault he is going to be made to withstand at Krennic's hands. He can see the shocked gaze of a newcomer to the engineering department, a middle aged man, with greying hair and a pot belly, the rest of the faces look either gleeful, bored or disgusted.

A rope is looped through the chain connecting the cuffs and is sent over one of the struts holding up one of the fabricators, it's hoisted tight and then tighter still until he has to stand unbalanced and awkward on his tiptoes.

“I think 20 to start.”

He looks across at Krennic, honestly confused, he's just thinking, _20 what-_

When he hears the crack of leather hitting flesh and had the wind knocked out of him. He doesn't even feel the pain. Just struggles to keep his footing and to regain his breath, then the numbness of the blow fades and he screams.

The next blow lands, Criss crossing over the pre existing welt and he shrieks again, trying fruitlessly to squirm away from the fire that is lancing across his back. Absolutely certain that he's been cut to the bone.

The blows land haphazardly across his back and it's difficult to breathe around them, each one when it lands forces the breath from his lungs in either a scream or a guttural grunt if it hits him hard enough to simply knock the wind out of him. He struggles not to fall, tries to keep his weight from dangling by his wrists and shoulders as best he can.

“17,

18,

19,

20.”

There's a pause, and he uses it to desperately hope for mercy, to wish he had a belief in a religious system, so he would have someone, anyone, to pray to for help.

Instead Master steps up, Masters big hand grabs a hold of his hair, and distantly through the haze of agony, he thinks that if he had the choice he'd cut his hair off, so no one could tug him about but it anymore, Master drags his head up so that they are face to face.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He asks very slowly and calmly.

He shouldn't be so calm, Galen thinks, not when he's just organised a whipping.

Master shakes him, getting him back on track.

“Yes.” He murmurs, his voice a thin, reedy, whine as he tries to breathe through the agony.

Krennic snaps his fingers and the rope keeping him on his feet loosens. He slumps to his knees and unable to balance quickly enough he slumps forward onto the floor.

“Sort this out.” Krennic barks over his head. “Get it out of here.”

Galen begins to try and struggle up, he hears footsteps moving around him.

A heavy blow lands on his wounded back and he slumps forward, knocking his face on the floor. The fresh burst of pain sends him reeling into darkness.

He feels the fingers in his hair before he's even opened his eyes. Past experience sends waves of terror through him. He prises his eyes open to see the newcomer sitting on the floor next to him, gently petting at his hair. Absurdly, despite everything he's suffered, it's the soft gentle touch that brings tears to his eyes.

“It's alright,” the man whispers to him.

 _It's not._ He wants to protest, _it's not and it won't be._

He doesn't dare disagree, closes his eyes instead and soaks up the gentleness. Uncaring of how short-lived it's likely to be or even how sincerely it's meant.

“Move it. We'll take it.”

“ _He’s-_ ” the new guys says, stressing the word. Galen feels a wave of worry for them both, wanting desperately to ask the man not to intercede. The troopers will punish him for any transgression, whether he was involved or not.

Hands grab at his arms and legs and he's hauled up, they try to get them stand but he can't manage it, his head goes light at the amount of blood that's spilled out over the floor. Perhaps this is it, he thinks hazily. Perhaps it's all over.

They take him to med bay, dragged between two troopers, another comes along still clutching his blaster as though he might need be subdued at any moment.

He'd laugh at the though of it if he could breathe without irritating his back.

At the med bay, they drop him across the nearest bed. The one he's normally cuffed into is empty, awaiting him, but they can't easily strap him down while keeping his back accessible.

“How do you want it?”

“Leave it like that,” the Doctor sighs, “one of you will have to stay, if it gets twitchy you'll need to restrain it.”

He wants to giggle harder than ever, _Twitchy?_ He couldn't be twitchy if his life depended on it right now.

The nearest trooper, steps around the bed and put one hand on each of his biceps, pressing them down into the bed.

“Hold still, there will be trouble if you don't.”

“Yesir,” he slurs the sound running together from exhaustion and his facial injury.

Bacta is spread over his raw back and he bites his lip into his mouth, ignoring the added pain in the side of his face at the pressure, until there is the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Right,that's all that can be done for now. Cuff it's legs together so it can't go wandering and leave it.”

The doctor leaves and the troopers spend a few minutes sorting out cuffs and chains.

 _They needn't bother,_ he thinks. They could leave him entirely unrestrained, he doesn't have the strength or the will to struggle.

* * *

 

The door to his cells slides quietly open, but Galen jerks awake anyway. His heart pounding as he thinks he's overslept, he hasn't been woken by his master's for work in a very long time, they are busy and get aggressive if he makes them wait. Galen rolls over and begins to pull himself up as quickly as he can, sickness rising within him at the idea of angering his owners so early in the day.

To his confusion it's not his owners but one of  the boys from the lab, the boy smiles hesitantly.

“I wanted more of what I got before.” He explains and Galen feels his heart sink.

“I liked it and I want more, I asked the men and they said this is where you were.” The boy looks around as though puzzled by Galens bare cell.

“They said you missed dinner,” the lad continues pressing forwards and slumping down the wall until he's sitting next to Galen, so they are sitting shoulder to shoulder against the wall. Galen nods even though he doesn't really think the boy is asking a question. “I brought you something,” the boys starts rummaging through his pockets, “ it's not much but I thought you'd be hungry.” He pulls out a bar of chocolate, it's not large or even good chocolate, but having been deprived of meals for the last couple of days Galen feels his mouth water at the sight of it. Feels his body's craving for substance pick at him.

Galen is so focused on the chocolate that he had almost forgotten about the boy, “ I'll give it to you, but first turn over for me.” Galen holds back a sigh with only the barest of margins, _of course_ he thinks miserably.

“Turn onto your hands and knees.” The boys says his voice hushed, and he nudges his shoulder against Galen's to prompt him. For a moment Galen hesitates then as his collar begins to start up, he swallows down the threat of tears and rolls into his hands and knees, tucking his face into his bicep. The lad immediately begins to run his fingers over Galen's body.

“ This needs to come off though,” he says tugging at Galen's clothing, before adding “right?” He sounds so young and unsure, but Galen feels a wave of hate for him, at having to train his rapist in the art of raping him.

“Right?” The boy prompts again.

“If you are planning on using my body, then yes.” Galen informs him, proud of how level he manages to keep his voice, even as he can feel tears and screams rising in his chest.

The lad starts tugging at his clothes and Galen moves as directed not helping but not working against the lad either. He knows by now there is no point.

When he's naked again, he's pressed back onto his hands and knees, the lad runs warm hands over his body, and presses his lips to Galen's spine. Galen shudders. Thankfully the boy assumes it's pleasure, or he doesn't care enough to comment.

Galen hears rustling behind him, and reflexively twitches away. “What.” The lad asks he sounds hurt and almost angry.

“I'm not prepared.” Galen tells him and he feels so much shame at those words. The lads face morphs into an expression of such confusion it nearly pulls a laugh out of Galen, but he stops himself, he can't afford to anger one of the few people who haven't tried to hurt him for pain's sake.

“How do you do that?”

“You need something slick, like oil, you know a lubricant.”

The boy's face pinks at the word lubricant as though Galen has said something awful. The feeling of rage is back as he considers that he is not only teaching the lad how to rape him he's having to practically teach him the birds and the bees too.

The lad grabs his chocolate bar and leaves and for a moment Galen imagines that he's gone, but after a few minutes he hears footsteps returning and realises that the lad has gone for lube.

The door opens and the boy stands there clutching a small tube. “Will this work?” Holding it out for Galen's inspection, Galen glances at it. It's a tube of topical treatment for spots, “ yeah,” he says eventually, “that'll probably do.”

The boy's face brightens, and he urges Galen over onto his knees again. Galen moves numbly, wishing this wasn't his life with every fibre of his being.

“What do I do?” the boy asks, “no, no I want to, let me.” He moves backwards away from Galen with the tube when Galen makes to take it.

Galen bites back an angry comment, knowing that it won't do him any good and could result in great pain if he's not careful. At the moment the boy wants to bribe him and is careful, if Galen angers him then he could be hurt by him at best. At worst the boy complains and he's sent for retraining down in the barracks. Shuddering at the memory of the agonizing week he'd once spent there, servicing every man over and over again, he'd begged, and cried and sworn to obey his master's if only they would let him out. If they would call off the troopers, his greatest fear is going back.

“ I finger fuck you with it,” the boys skims his hand over Galen's side, “right?”

“Yeah, that's pretty much it.” Galen sighs, inwardly curdling with shame at the phrase 'finger fuck’, suddenly feeling a little more compassion for the boys earlier embarrassment.

He feels fingers pushing between his buttocks and has a split second to consciously try to relax his muscles before the fingers are forced in, the lad is too quick, rough and obviously unpracticed.

Galen knows he's barely prepped at all, when the fingers are tugged out and the lad is pressing up against him, trying to push inside him. Galen inhales and forces himself not to clench up, the lad hasn't used nearly enough lubricant and the dry drag is painful.

“Do I put it on me too?”

“Yes, that will help.”

His only recompense is that the boy isn't a complete idiot, and had at least though to ask, not just blindly carry on, injuring them both. He tries not to listen and grow anxious, but above their breathing he can hear the lad fumbling behind him. He startles when a hand lands back on his hip, but draws himself back to stillness, not wanting to try the boys patience. The spectre of the barracks still looms in his mind's eye.

Galen swallows hard and bites into his bicep to muffle his moan of pain as the boy shoves into him.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh,”  the lad is eager, his hips humping quickly and hard against Galen's ass.

 _It won't take long_ Galen tells himself, keeping his eyes firmly shut and his teeth locked into the flesh of his upper arm. _It won't take long, it'll be over soon._

It takes longer than he'd thought but thankfully the lad doesn't have much stamina, and he comes after only a few dozen thrusts, grinding into Galens body painfully.

He slumps across Galen's back, breathing harshly, continuing to roll his hips until he softens completely then he pulls away. Galen hopes that he will leave now, but to his disappointment the lad leans back against the wall, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face, he looks young and exhausted. He reaches out and grabs at Galen's hip, tugging into Galen relents and sits on the floor next to him. It's uncomfortable to sit on a cement floor when you've just been buggered without much preparation, but he settles as comfortably as he can manage and sits silently, hoping that the lad will become bored of him and leave. He hope desperately that the lad isn't waiting until he can have another go.

The boy pulls the chocolate out of his pocket and Galen can't help but stare at it longingly, he's not been fed properly since falling into the empire's hands and he's not been fed at all in a few days.

His stomach grows, loudly in the room, where the only other sound is their breathing. The boy beams at him, all innocence and smiles as though he has never harmed anyone, Galen wonders if he believes that or if he just thinks chocolate negates rape. The boy breaks the bar in half, and hands part to Galen, while taking a bite out of the other half.

Galen looks down at the half bar that his body is worth, the loss of the last remaining space on the base where he had any semblance of safety that has been paid for with half a chocolate bar, misery chokes at him, and follows suit. It tastes like ash in his mouth.

* * *

 

He's kneeling on the mattress, his knees sinking into the soft surface, making keeping his balance difficult as the thrusts grow harder and harder.

He wriggles his left wrist into his mouth and bites down, not wanting the whines of pain to escape. He's never been used by this officer before, he'd seen the latest rotation of officers arrive the day before and had known that they would be seeking him out, he doesn't know what will anger the other man. He doesn't dare make too much noise, or dirty the sheets.

The officer leans further over him, Galen can feel the sweaty skin of the other man's chest and stomach touching his back as they both draw in ragged breaths.

The hands on his hips clutch tighter and force him up higher, twisting his back into a deeper bend, the thrusts within him shift slightly into a newer, even more uncomfortable angle. Screwing his eyes shut he kneels as still as he can with his forehead pressed into the sheets, snagging a corner between the fingers of his free hand, hanging on for dear life.

“I knew you'd be a sweet fuck when I saw the holovid.” The words are groaned out into his neck, and Galen can't help but recoil, _holovid?_

The man inside him chuckles, and a hand fists in the back of his hair pulling his head up out of the blankets, “didn't you know?” He asks Galen, there is laughter in his voice, as his hips continue unceasing. His head is shaken by the fist clenched in his hair and the man demands again, “didn't you know?”

“No, sir.” Galen gasps out the words, talking made difficult by the angle his head is being held at and the pain of the assault he's withstanding.

“You're famous, you know. Half the empire has seen your little vids. You're quite the crowd pleaser. I'm sure even your little friends from the alliance have seen them by now. Probably why they aren't trying to get you back.” The man moans again and his hips stutter, “although if they knew how sweet your hole is, how good you were, I'm sure they be fighting tooth and nail for you. You can warm their beds just as easily as you warm ours.”

Devastated, Galen can't prevent himself from trembling, he hadn't realised he'd still held out hope of rescue, or at least for an end to slavery, until it had been snatched away from him.

He barely even notices the rest of the rape, his mind whirling and circling relentlessly on the new knowledge he has been told, the rebels know. They know what is being done to him, and they have done nothing.

Logically he can see that the rebels have limited resources and he's only one man, he can see how they might not be able to afford to free him. Not able to justify the cost in man hours and lives, even for a mind like his. Emotionally he can't understand why they wouldn't even kill him, he knows that isn't impossible, they have snipers. Instead he's been left to endure whatever fate is his. Hurt and alone he bites his lower lip into his mouth, until his mouth is filled with the taste of iron, and refuses to let the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes fall.

When he's back in his cell, exhausted and aching, he stares blankly at the wall trying to come to terms with this new knowledge. Clutching at his knees as pain and misery overwhelm him.

When the others file out for lunch the next day and he's left at his desk, alone, he turns to the files he knows are being kept on him on the databases. After so many years in the hands of the Empire they no longer bother to keep him from sensitive information, assuming ,rightly, that Galen has no one to give any such sensitive information to and he isn't even sure he would dare even if he did.

Bringing up the relevant file, he stares at his name, written in standard type, summoning the courage to open it and read the contents. Tightening his grip on the edge of the table he opens it and begins to skim read.

His heart sinks almost at once, the Empire has sent the rebels the vids, deliberately. Sinking his head into his hands, unable to think past the latest development. He doubts that the Rebels will be coming looking for him any time soon.

He shuts down the terminal not able to bear reading anymore, and returns to the work he's been set. Struggling to concentrate all day as his mind revolves uselessly on his shame and despair.

In the evening one of his handlers approaches him and he sinks obediently to his knees while his work is checked.

“Is this all, slut?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No good enough is it?”

“No-” Galen feels his voice break and swallows hard trying to maintain a little dignity. “No, sir.”

The handler looks down at him and shakes his head ruefully. “No, it isn't is it?” He asks in the tone of voice that takes Galen back to his school days.

“No, sir” he mumbles again, shaking his head for added emphasis.

The handler sighs as though gravely disappointed, then takes a hold of Galen’s meal, a poor effort of two slices of bread and small amount of some kind of vegetable, and scrapes it into a nearby disposal.

Blinking hard, and swallowing back disappointment he looks down at his knees. The handler backhands him across the face and Galen nearly overbalances backwards, he's grabbed and  lead back to his cell in complete silence, his belly clenching emptily.

 Sitting alone, knees pulled up to his chin, he blinks back tears, and tries to quash his hurt feelings, he hadn't realised he'd been holding onto any hope these past ten years. It's only when he feels it  crumble, that he can bring himself to acknowledge that deep down he'd hoped that someone missed him and that he was being looked for, mourned, missed. He acknowledges now in the face of its impossibility that he'd hoped that maybe his friends would seek to free him, that deep down he'd hoped to one day be free, for a better life than this.

He has to truly accept his vulnerability now, he wraps his arms around himself and tries to imagine they are someone's arms holding him close.

He fights the tears that are burning at his eyes, knowing no one has the patience for his tears,  and struggles to contain his desolation.

It doesn't change much, this new understanding of the world he's in, not really, it just leaves him so tired. He's tired of everything, of being cold and underfed, of being ignored and set work he hates.

He loses himself little by little, day after day, he remains locked in his little cycle of depression and despair.

He allows himself to be pushed around, simply submits to anything his captors ask of him, he's a scientist not a soldier and he's withstood years of torment, it's so much easier now to give in.

He likes to be able to sink to his knees and press his forehead into the ground at their feet now. While he remains in the position he's been taught he rarely gets hurt. He finds comfort and solidarity in the familiarity of his debasement.

* * *

 

  
Galen kneels, his knees digging into the grating of the floor painfully, sucking hard, taking his Master's length as deeply into his throat as he can well aware that it pleases Master.

Master groans lowly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, his head dropping backwards against the wall behind him with a thump as he comes in long spurts into Galen's mouth.

Galen swallows every last drop master gives him and remains on his knees pressing his forehead into Masters abdominals, breathing deeply. After a few minutes of ragged panting from both men, Master relaxes the hand that had been fisted tightly in Galens hair. Instead he begins to gently card through the unruly locks, righting the mess that he'd made of Galen's hair from gripping hard in his excitement.

Galen sighs in contentment at the soft touch, and presses his body more firmly into Masters legs.  
A door opens behind them and a there is a soft sound of mortified surprise. Galen turns annoyed at having been disturbed when he has Masters sole attention for once, the young man before them is wearing a pilot's uniform and is gazing, horrified, at Galen's skeletal, bruised, naked body.

Master makes obvious work of tucking himself away, while glaring at the newcomer out of his bright blue eyes. The newcomer looks at them both in total shock before turning tail and escaping while murmuring hurried apologies.

Master laughs at the boy's obvious discomfort and reaches out again to run a hand through Galens hair.

“You'll need a cut soon” he tells Galen, who suppresses a shudder at the thought of what he'll have to let the hairdresser do to him in order to pay for his services. But Master knows best and Galen knows better than to argue with him, so he nods even though it hadn't been a question. It always pleases Master when Galen agrees with him.

Master drops Galen off at work, which is great because a couple of the other guys will always take the opportunity to use Galen's body if they can. When they are given such a stark reminder that he belongs to Master, their behaviour always dies away to name calling and groping for a few days.

Galen basks in the knowledge that he has a few days holiday from having to deal with the mouth breathing idiots.

He spends the rest of the day in the labs, refining sketches,and collating data. The Death Star is all but built but Master likes him to oversee his projects right through to the end for the sake of consistency.

Later, instead of being sent back to his cell, Master collects him and he's taken back to his quarters. Galen is only permitted here on the rarest of occasions, so he enjoys the luxury of being surrounded by the scent of Master, if being permitted in the warmth of his rooms.

Master receives his dinner and bids Galen to kneel next to his chair, Master slowly cuts his dinner into bite sized pieces then puts his knife down. Using his fork in one hand he feeds himself and, with the other, passes morsels of food down to Galen. He keeps his hands behind his back, one hand curved around the other wrist hard enough to leave bruises, the bruises show his obedience,  he's very proud of them.

Master holds each bite of food in front of Galen's lips,  having been deprived of food all day, he accepts each piece without hesitation, curling his tongue sinuously around Masters fingertips, and sucking away every lingering taste of the meal eagerly.

It's when they are in bed together that Master gets chatty. He's spooning Galen, pulling his body back into the hard planes of his body, his arm locked over Galens chest and his chin on the top of Galen's head.

Master's fingers draw meaningless designs on the skin of his upper arm, and the man chats about his day and the minions he's had to punish.

He mentions having the pilot,who saw Galen naked, disciplined for some spurious reason, and Galen notes to keep away from them boy if it's bothered Master enough to seek him out to have him punished.

 

* * *

 

A few days later when Master has appeared to help Galen down from the flogging post, after he's been punished for yet another unspecified indiscretion, that Master mentions the rebels.

Galen is swaying dangerously on his feet and only manages to stay upright when Master throws a strong arm around him, taking most of his weight, but between the jolt of pain that arcs through him from the brush against his raw back and the mention of the rebels it feels like his brain has come online for the first time in years.


	8. Chapter 8

Master, ~~Krennic~~ Master, Galen is no longer sure how he's should even be thinking about the other man, has spent hours gleefully telling Galen about how they intend to wipe out the Rebel forces.

Galen knows that the Rebels have abandoned him, that there is to be no rescue from that quarter, he's been told on more than one occasion that the Rebel forces think that he's a willing servant of the empire.That they think his relationships with the Imperial staff are consensual ones that bring Galen pleasure. That they, despite how much it pains him to acknowledge, think of him as an Imperial whore.

Galen has long since given up trying to sort out his conflicting feelings towards his captors. He has long since given it up as a pointless, thankless, task when his opinion,or consent, is neither required not desired.

However, he can't stop himself dwelling on the Rebels and the fail safe he'd had built into the Death Star. It makes him so distracted that even Master notices, the subsequent punishment and time locked away in his cell, bloody and alone, gives him plenty of time to think.

He spends hours calculating what course of action he should take.

He knows that the Rebels won't trust him, but he still, despite his anguish at them thinking he's a whore, doesn't wish to see them killed.

He still hates the Empire too as an organisation, they killed his wife, his daughter. They stole the last 15 years of his life away from him, reduced him from free, family man to a slave, a whore.

But despite everything he can't deny the pull of saftey and security he feels towards his master. He is terrified of making a step out into the unknown.

He's spent years now doing as he's been commanded, the only independent actions he's taken have been to put down a way to destroy the death star. He hasn't made a single independent action in his own behalf for years, he hasn't had to clothe or feed himself, he hasn't had to try and provide medical care for himself, he cannot imagine how he would do so now after so many years, he can hardly even conceive of a life beyond being an Empire plaything. The thought of it makes him feel unsettled and unwell, the lack of structure and having to fend for himself seems terrifying, utterly hopeless after 15 years, he has no idea really how things might have changed in the years he's been away, what might be different. He's no idea how he'd fit in, not give himself away at the first oppurtunity

It comes as a huge relief when it occurs to him that he won't survive.

Once the Death Star is destroyed they will kill him just to save face, he won't have to try and make a life alone, the thought is a comfort to him. It hardens his resolve to ensure the destruction of the Death Star and he can die hoping that it will lead to the eventual downfall of the Empire.

He makes a holovid describing how to access the Death Star plans, it takes him a long, long time as he has to fight the collar every step of the way.

Then he hides the file deep in the most boring collection of files he can think of, the maintenance records, by deleting one of the real files for a time period about two years ago and adding his holovid under the original file name he feels reassured that no one will ever find it hidden away in the archives, not that anyone even has a reason yet to go looking.

Even after all these years he's not lost the art of hiding things in plain sight.

Having accomplished his message he needs to find a way to send it, he has no current links to the Rebels and doubts that they would take a transmission from him anyway. He knows he needs to find a believable intermediate, a go between whom the Rebels will be able to trust, or will at least listen to long enough to get the palms, Galen has no idea how he is supposed to find one of those as a slave on an Empire base.

 

* * *

  

He picks himself up off the floor of the barracks slowly.

His whole body aches from a night spent being passed around between the newest Stormtroopers. His knees and forearms are a mass of friction burns and bruises. Blood is caked around his nostrils and running in thin lines between his thighs and down over his top lip. His hair is a mess from being tousled by so many different hands.

He looks around for his jumpsuit, anxiety spiking when he can't immediately locate his only clothing, not wanting to face another  punishment so soon, and eventually finds it balled up and half kicked, abandoned, under one of the beds.

He leans heavily against the wall, while he steps into his stained and torn clothing, legs and hands shaking from pain and exhaustion.

He works the zipper of his jumpsuit up as high as he can, scrubs a tired hand over his face, before shoving gingerly off the wall and walking carefully out of the room trying not to jostle any of his numerous injuries.

He staggers through the hallways, hoping to reach the office without being stopped by anyone. If he can get there before the others arrive, he can sneak into the restroom, scrub away the worst of the filth from his skin in the tiny basin there, clean himself up a little, scrub the mess off his flesh and wish the shame in his soul would be so easily removed.

He's two corridors away, when he hears a door side open to his left, and he freezes, instinctively hoping that he won't be seen.

A sharp intake of breath proves him wrong, and his heart sinks.

He turns, miserably, towards the other occupant of the hallway hoping to be dismissed quickly. While praying inwardly that the other won't want their own turn with his body.

His battered, raw hole is stinging and aching already, he doesn't even want to think about how badly taking another cock is going to hurt.

Hands clasp his upper arms and he looks into the face of his newest assailant,  the boy that Master had punished.

“What's your name?”

Galen glances down stares at his bare feet, they are bluish with cold and there are dark bruises on both of them, the big toe on his left foot is back beneath the nail, an injury that still throbs. “Slut.” He mumbles.

“What!” The boy’s voice turns sharp, anger and outrage mingling.

Hunching his shoulders, cringing away from the blow expectantly he tries to speak a little louder, enunciate more clearly. “Slut. My name is slut.”

The boy reaches out and grabs his arm and Galen half flinches back, he catches himself before he's moved out of range and quells himself back to immobility. “That's not your name. What's your name.”

His collar prickles, send slight pinpricks of pain through him, more itchy than truly painful but he squirms slightly anyway. “It's slut,” he says again, desperation pitched through his voice. “That's what everyone calls me, honestly sir.”

“No, that's not a name.”

His collar picks up a notch and tears rise to his eyes unbidden, he doesn't know how to answer. It is his name, but he can't disobey master and correcting him is disobedient. “Whatever sir wishes to call me?” he tries, wondering whether some of the other names he's been called would be taken any better than slut. He's been called whore, cumbucket, slave, fuck-hole. He doesn't know which one the boy wants, his breath hitches with frustration and for a moment anger wells up within him at the unfairness of it all as he can't answer because he _doesn't know_ what this new master wants to call him.

“I want to call you by your name. Come on, you must have one.” The sharpness is gone from his tone, it's coaxing now, instead of soothing him Galen feels himself begin to shake in response.

“I.. sir? I don't. It really is slut.” He swallows hard, hears his breath catch, “or whore, I suppose, it doesn't matter really, I'll answer to anything, sir. Just tell me what I'm supposed to be doing.”

“Alright, ok. Ok. Yeah, no, alright. If that's what you're comfortable with we can go with that until I find out what- ok we'll just go with that for now if we have to.” The lad runs his palms together, twisting his fingers and locking his palms together before twisting them apart, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Galen watches as the lad looks him up and down, the boy's eyes linger on his body talking in the stains on his jumpsuit, the blood under his nails, the small cluster of bruises on his jaw.

Clenching his teeth on the misery that is lodged in his throat, Galen stares at the opposite wall, his eyes burn and he doesn't dare blink for fear of dislodging the tears that are gathering there, he waits for the lad to gives his orders.

“I'm Bodhi. There's no need to call me sir. I'm just a pilot, nothing special.”

Galen shifts anxiously, not knowing how to respond, he doesn't want to agree, telling a master that he is 'nothing special’ seems like a good way to hurt for a very, very long time, but he can't disagree either. It's been trained in, programmed into his innate responses using pain and blood.

“Ok,” Bodhi says again, “ alright, come on then let's get this sorted.”

Steeling himself, Galen nods and steps up towards Bodhi.

His wide eyes are fixed on Galen with something akin to horror lurking in their amber depths, but his eyes still slide over Galens body, taking him in.

Galen represses a shudder of disgust, and horror, with the ease of long practice.

“Come on,” Bodhi says again and turns away still with one hand fisted in the sleeve of Galen's jumpsuit.

Galen feels his stomach drop, but follows the Bodhi wordlessly back into the room he'd just come out of.

It's a small single room, the bed is neatly made, the sheets tucked into sharp corners that denote a military background, there are few personal effects, if it wasn't for the owner standing inside it, the room would appear to be uninhabited.

Galen walks over to it without having to be prompted, unzips, let's his clothing pool on the floor around his dirty, bare feet and bends across the mattress, burying his face, blocking out what's to come.

At Bodhi's squark of horror, his collar fires, sending fire over his skin, and he throws himself backwards off the bed as quickly as he can.

Hating himself for assuming that anyone would want him on their clean sheets, biting his lip to stifle any sounds of pain that might be tempted to slip free, he folds to the floor as gracefully as he can manage, folds his arms and rests his forehead on the top of his clenched hands, he tilts his hips upwards, offering himself up for Master's use, and waits.


	9. Chapter 9

A soft touch on his back, gentle and feather light causes him to start. Heart pounding he presses his head further into the floor, tucking himself into the smallest shape he can manage, skin prickling, with terrified anticipation of pain, as he awaits the boy's touch.

He hears the bed springs squeaking as the boy sits down, and he rolls his head just far enough that he can peek through the fringe of his hair at the other man.

The boy is staring at him, his face is a mask of horror, he won't get far in the service of the empire displaying his feelings so obviously Galen muses distantly.

Neither of them move for several minutes, on several occasions the boy opens his mouth, as though he's going to attempt speech, but each time he merely swallows hard and shuts his mouth again.

Just when Galen is beginning to get anxious, that he'll have to stay here all day and he'll miss work, and he struggles to imagine what kind of punishment that will provoke, stomach swooping with terror at the mere idea, the pilot pulls himself together and stands up.

Galen pushes himself up out of his huddle, spreading his legs a little, turning his face away and burying it into the bare flesh of his upper arm.

The pilot walks past him though and into the fresher behind them, he flicks on the light then backs away from the door giving Galen a clear, unobstructed path.

Peering suspiciously around his bicep, he watches as the pilot  gestures him into the little room, wary but obedient, Galen rises to his feet stiffly and enters the fresher.

The pilot steps up behind him, and unconsciously he tenses, shoulders rising protectively, hunching away from a blow before awareness catches up with him and he forces himself to stand straight.

“You'll want to shower” the kid gestures at the tiny sonic stall in the corner, and Galen closes his eyes in resignation, of course the boy was only offended by his filthy body.

The door closed behind him, the lock engaging with a quiet snick. Galen takes a minute to calm himself, willing his nerves to settle, then he steps into the shower and activates it.

The unit runs through its programming all too quickly for Galen, he hates sonic showers they remove the dirt, and other contaminants from his body but he never feels truly clean until he has been permitted a water shower, or at least as clean as he ever feels nowadays.

Once it's finished it's cycle Galen can think of no reason to delay the inevitable, he breathes deeply once to steady himself then walks out into the bedroom again. He drops down onto his knees and kneels before the boy, watching him for a clue as how he wants to make use of his body.

The pilot remains seated on the bed, and Galen makes an aborted move towards him assuming that he wants his mouth, but he's stopped by the pilot holding up a hand.

Galen settles back on his knees and watches the boy confused and alarmed.

The pilot gets up and rummages through a drawer, Galen watches feeling increasing anxious about what the boy might be looking for and what he intends to do with the mystery object once he has it.

He's less anxious but even more bewildered when the pilot turns around holding a clean black baselayer, he tosses it at Galen, “put it on.”

Galens confusion only ratchets higher at the order, but obeys. He's been made to wear all kinds of things as a prelude to sexual assaults before, women's underwear, Masters favourite, Maids outfits, even a Stormtrooper uniform, so he's no stranger to the art of dress up but wearing something so plain and ill fitting is a new one.

Fully dressed he stands, holding his body still for inspection, the boy nods, then wraps his hand back around Galens bicep and steers them both out of the door.

So utterly bewildered at the turn of events, he can hardly keep up Galen allows himself to be tugged along, the hands on his body are surprisingly gentle, though Galen can't imagine where they are going, he hopes this isn't the beginnings of another round of group sex.

His belly clenches with anxiety at the thought of another session of rough hands grabbing at him, being shoved between two or more bodies, just trying desperately to keep going, submitting totally in the hopes of appeasing his tormentors, body's switching out as they are sated being replaced by fresh eager ones, again and again.

Instead he gets dropped of at work and the boy leaves him with a tense smile and a single backward glance. Galen looks down at his borrowed clean clothes and wonders how he'll have to thank the new pilot for his generosity, then he goes back to work.

He sees the pilot repeatedly over the coming weeks and his actions never begin to make sense, the boy smiles at him but never tries to touch him, swaps his clothes for clean ones but never wants Galen to model them. He tells Galen to shower but never joins him in the narrow cubicle.

He's a complete enigma to Galen, but over time Galen notices little things that show how unhappy the pilot is under the Empire's command.

He's frequently being disciplined by the higher ups for questioning orders, he's often alone, and doesn't like the company of the other Empire staff. The pilots finger nails are chewed down to the quick and he always looks happier when he's leaving on a mission, however much he's protested at its relevance.

After 6 months or so, of seeing the pilot around the base infrequently if at reasonably regular intervals, he makes the decision to give the holovid to the pilot. It's a decision more based on desperation than anything else, the project is so close to completion, it's information that the Rebels need, and this man is the only one he's had any kind of regular contact with in years that hasn't attempted him any kind of harm, unless he's trying to kill Galen with confusion. He's the only man Galen has seen here who seems ill at ease with the Empire, and he doesn't have any other choices.

Accepting that it's a decision that may well get him killed Galen, gives him the files.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks to everyone who's reading, and everyone who's given kudos and leaving comments! It's great to be getting your feedback, so thank you! And thanks to PhoenixxWispp who's helped to beta most of this chapter and has wrangled it into order!

It's slow going, explaining to the pilot about who the message is for. He tries to play it more as a worried father, hysterical about the fate of his only child.

Eventually, he persuades the boy to deliver it, and he gives him the only information he has. Its years out of date, but it’s better than nothing.

The boy, Bodhi, tries to persuade him, in turn to leave with him. He reassures Galen that he will be able to leave him on a different world and that he can start again afterwards.

Galen snorts disbelievingly. He'd left before and had been dragged back, and that was when he'd had the support of others to help hide him. Alone, he wouldn't last long. He can't imagine how he's supposed to fend for himself, how he's supposed to earn money, and how he’s supposed to acquire a place to live.

Theoretical scientists appearing out of nowhere would cause a bit of a stir, and now his only other skills are that of a decidedly sexual nature.

At least, here, he's kept reasonably safe. Master won't allow any lasting damage to be done to him, and he occasionally gives him treats. He has a purpose and all his physical needs are taken care of. He's never fed as much as he would like but at least he doesn't have to find a way of getting it for himself.

He quails at the idea of having to prostitute himself on a foreign world, and refuses the pilots offer adamantly. He resolves to stay at Masters side, under Masters protection, until Master has cause to kill him for the Death Star's destruction.

Bodhi puts up a tremendous fuss at leaving him, insisting that Galen will be able to have a place alongside the rest of the Rebels. Galen doesn't have the heart to crush the boys ideals or tarnish his naivety by telling him that the Rebels are in their own way as bad as the Empire and they are just as ruthless and that they will turn their backs on their own like it's nothing, and so he stays silent instead.

Finally, Bodhi agrees to leave with the holovid, too worn out to argue further.

Once Bodhi has left taking his precious cargo with him, Galen settles himself back into his hated but familiar role of a sex slave and waits for everything to come crashing down and bring about the end that he's dreamed about for more than a decade.

For weeks nothing happens.

Lulled by the ebb and flow of his day to day life, Galen relaxes, and allows the mundanity of his life to wash over him as he designs weapons, sucks dick, and takes it hard from any Imperial who takes a fancy to him.

He doesn't even realise that something's gone wrong until Master disappears for a few days, he returns in a temper and takes it out on Galen’s hide.

It's only when Galen’s bloody and Master is a little less furious that he begins to question Galen intently. He asks nothing obvious, just questions about the laboratory and who has access to what. Galen answers all questions truthfully, waiting for Master to put the pieces together and put him out of his misery.

Instead, the man storms out in a rage, and Galen is left alone in his cell.

Galen leans his head back against the metal walls. He closes his eyes, and instead of thinking of his wife and child, he thinks about how his existence is about to be scrubbed out, a full stop added to the end of his sentence and how only history can judge him from here. It's a nice thought to sleep on.

He knows something is brewing, he can feel the tension build and build. Until the air is thick with it, and Galen feels as though he could shake apart under the strain.

* * *

 

It's a relief when they are all called out into the fresh air to be questioned. Galen breathes the air of the planet's atmosphere rather than the recycled air of the base, feels the breeze on his skin and enjoys the scents of the earth, one last time.

He nearly does not confess, he doesn't want to see the disappointment and betrayal in Master's eyes.

Every last one of the scientists has been instrumental in his suffering over the years, some have had a hand, and more, in it, while others have simply looked the other way time and time again, while he's bled, and shivered and starved.

In the end though he knows he'll be caught and he'd rather die at Masters hand, watching Master as his life is snuffed out, than be killed by someone else, maybe even someone he doesn't know. When it's all that he has left to decide for himself, Galen chooses his Master.

It doesn't prevent the slaughter of the other scientists,and as the bodies hit the deck around him, while Galen himself stands totally unharmed he realises just how badly he might have miscalculated.

His day goes from bad to worse, when enemy ships appear and start raining fire down upon them.

Galen stands stock still, shock eliminating any higher processing. His brain judders to a halt under the weight of his own helpless, bewilderment. He has no idea how to respond to such a scenario, what reaction he should be attempting. He can feel his brain attempting to apply the correct response for past disasters and failing, causing a feeling of distant déjà vu.

The impact of the blast doesn't even hurt him, it simply feels like he's been shoved hard, he looks down and sees a red stain spreading across his side.

Galen reaches out to touch it unable to work out where the red is coming from. He looks around for the source, to find out what's leaking, and sees Master being dragged away by two strangers and a robot.

Staggering on legs that are surprisingly weak, his head swimming, wondering vaguely how the deck is titling, he goes after Master.  

He doesn't get close enough to reach Master, before his legs give out, crumpling to his knees, he sways dangerously.

Hands grab him under the armpits and he's dragged forwards, he tries to move his legs, but the sound of his heart beat is echoing in his ears and he sags in the grip a boneless deadweight.

His last conscious thought as he's dropped onto the grating of a fighter, is that he's going to be in so much trouble for spoiling the smart uniform he'd been given to wear. He won't be soon trusted with another.


	11. Chapter 11

He comes too in the Medical bay, even before he's opened his eyes he can smell the disinfectant and he curls his fingers into fists until his nails slice into his palms. Memories of previous trips to med bay rise up, terror grips him.

_ He only becomes aware that the Medical Technician hadn't left with the rest of the Medical staff when a hand slides up his thigh. _

_ He flexes his arms and tugs reflexively at the restraints that are always left on him on the occasions when he's suffered a punishment that has ended in the necessity of an overnight stay in the Infirmary. As with every time he's tried that the restrains remain firm and unyielding, while his collar dispenses the necessary retribution. _

_ The man leans over him and Galen can see just enough in the darkness to know who it is, and his whole body goes taut with the force of his denial. _

_ Leran Corr, one of the nastiest men on the base, beams down at him, his white teeth almost glowing in the dimness of the room. The hand on his thigh tightens, squeezing tightly, to the point of pain, and he gasps at the flare of pain and clenches his legs together protectively as well as he can with the restraints. _

_ Leran chuckles and shoves a hand between Galens legs and gathers his genitals into one of his huge hands, weighing the weight of them as though he's considering whether to make a purchase. Galen watches as the smile on the man's face grows even wider and he closes his hand harshly, squeezing mercilessly. _

_ The suddenness of the agony that rolls through him causes a moan of distress to slip free, and he tries to curl into himself, achieving nothing but a shock from the collar and bruises at his wrists and ankles from the restraints. _

_ A loud cough from the one of the other occupants in the Med Bay reminds Galen of the presence of others and he stares upwards at the ceiling in horror, he's been caught in compromising positions regularly in his time in the Empire's hands but it never gets any less mortifying. _

_ Choking back any other sounds of misery, he tries to reason with Leran in a whisper, and for a moment he thinks that somehow against all odds he's achieved a reprieve, as the man walks away from the bed. _

_ His heart stops, and dread is the only feeling he knows when almost instantly Leran returns with a scalpel in his hand. Leran leans over him and clicks on a lamp and then angles it down over Galens prone form. _

_ “Please” he whispers “please, no, don't, I can't....” his overarching fear even beyond what Leran intends to do with the scalpel is that he's in the Med Bay for dehydration, losing blood will make the situation worse and he'll be in so much trouble with the Nursing Staff when they have to treat him again in the morning. _

_ Assuming he lives to the morning, the thought that he might not calms him a little, as Leran places on finger over his lips. At first as a gesture for silence but then he traces his finger around Galen’s lips with the tip of one finger nail. _

_ With a suddenness that startles another noise of protest out of him, Leran tugs the neck of the medical gown he's wearing down, yanking and pulling at it until the material has rent and been tugged out from under him enough to leave his chest exposed. _

_ The cool air hits his flesh and he can feel his nipples pebble in response to the physical stimuli, Leran runs the same finger nail around the closest one then flicks at the hardening flesh as few times. _

_ Abandoning Galens nipple, Leran presses the flat of the scalpels blade across the flat, underfed, planes of Galen's belly, Galen stills himself instantly, every muscle drawing tight, his toes curling in anticipation of agony. _

_ Instead Leran draws the scalpel in one quick light slash across the top of his pectoral. Despite the pain being barely noticeable and far, far less than he was expecting he flinches hard and hisses, the soft noise loud in the silence of the room. The air stings at the wound and he tries to lift his head to see how bad it is when Leran presses a hand on his forehead and shoves his head back down forcibly. _

_ Leran runs a finger lightly over Galens chest and he can feel the damp smear of his blood being painted into random smudges onto his skin.  _

_ Leban adds more cuts, stinging lines that he can never anticipate as they are laid out all over his torso, his arms and his legs. Blood runs down his ribs, it feels cool and the slow drip of it is itchy, Leran continues to do macabre finger paintings on his body and to his great relief he finds himself becoming light headed from pain and blood loss. His extremities go numb and his fingers tingle with pins and needles, while his breathing begins to rasp unpleasantly. _

_ He's passed into a kind of daze when Leran draws the scalpel over the webbing between two of his fingers,  the pain feels distant and hazy. _

_ Leran dips his finger into the pooling blood collecting in the palm of Galen's upturned hand and uses it to paint Galens lips. As he runs his bloody hands over his face, Galen notices faintly that Leran’s breathing is harsh and excited. He turns his face away and closes his eyes in resignation. _

_ Leran clambers awkwardly up onto the bed, and straddles Galens shoulders, and settles his weight so he's sitting on Galens chest. Galen struggles to breathe under the weight of the other man, a task that becomes even harder when Leran slides his bloody fingers into Galens mouth. Galen can taste his own blood, and the faint trace of antiseptic under that from working in the labs. _

_ The fingers in his mouth feel huge and ungainly, they press his tongue down against the bottom of his mouth and then press further inwards towards the back of his mouth and he gags. To his dismay the comforting haze dissipates a little and he's left much more conscious and more aware of what's happening. _

_ Leran is groping at the front of his trousers with one hand while he continues to thrust his fingers into Galens mouth. Galen struggles to raise his head enough to see what's happening against the pressure of the thrusts into his mouth. He chokes and coughs as he tries to resist Leran, spit drools out of the corners of his mouth as he does. _

_ To his utter misery he sees Leran clearly stoking himself, the arm movement is obvious. The hitching of his breath catches him entirely by surprise, he closes his eyes tight against the sting of unshed tears. _

_ He feels Leran rubbing the head of his cock against his lips and he tries to turn his head away. A blow rocks his head to the slide and the crack of the slap of skin on skin is thunderous in the stillness of the early hours. _

_ A hand fastens in his hair and his mouth is prised open, for a moment he resists then as his collar protests his actions he relinquishes all resistance and lies limp, hating himself with every ounce of his being. _

_ The cock is forced past his lips all the way into his throat, the angle is awkward and it bumps against his soft palate. He gags again and the noise causes someone to yell at them to shut up. The thrusts into his throat come quickly, and fast he can feel the other man's testicles slapping into his chin and the others hands are tight in his hair pulling his face hard into the techs groin. _

_ He tries his best to keep his tongue out of the way, tries not to touch the cock that's buggering his face. _

_ Leran is tugging his hair harder in his excitement and the rough actions bring tears of pain to his eyes. Mercifully it doesn't last long.  _

_ Leran angles Galens head roughly and leans further forwards blocking everything else out, all Galen can see and smell and taste is the other man, his toes are curling in disgust and his whole body is shaking with revulsion. _

_ Leran thrusts harder and deeper into his throat and he feels Leran’s fingers on his neck doubtlessly feeling where his throat is distended from the cock that is forcing it's way into him. Galen clenches his eyes tighter as Leran starts to groan and mutter curses and names at him as he gets closer to orgasm. _

_ Galen tries to block out the sounds, but with his eyes shut, and the struggle to breathe, it's hard to concentrate on anything beyond the filth being muttered in his ears and the pounding of the cock into his mouth. _

_ It's almost a relief when, with a cry, Leran pulls out of his mouth and comes across his face, Galen has just enough sense of self left to feel grateful that he has his eyes closed. he's been forced into this position on enough occasions now that he has learnt that getting come in his eyes stings painfully. _

_ Leran kneels panting, then shuffles off the bed and after fiddling with his clothing for a few moments he disappears. _

_ Galen lies bloody and come streaked for what feels like hours, mind reeling at the loss of one the few places he had been reasonably safe, too shattered to even cry. _

_ Despite everything he must have fallen asleep as he's woken the next morning by a furious voice demanding very, very, loudly “what is all this?!?”  _

_ He jerks painfully into consciousness, his head is pounding with a headache and his mouth his dry, while all his skin feels itchy. _

_ He looks reluctantly into the furious face of Dr Cureden, whose face is reddening and when he starts shouting flecks of spit fly everywhere. _

_ He shouts for a very long time. _

_ Then Cureden turns on his heel and storms out, returning quickly with a nurse and they both work to release him from the restraints. Cureden is rough in his anger and Galen has to swallow back his pain as his body is manipulated in harsh bad tempered jerks. _

_ As soon as his limbs are free Cureden grabs a handful of the gown that is still doing its level best to cover his modesty and hauls him upright. His head swims as he becomes vertical so quickly and he nearly falls, but the doctors hand closes around his lower face thumbs digging harshly into his cheek muscles. _

_ As soon as he's got his balance the doctor releases him with a grimace of disgust which cuts him to the core. _

_ “Look at what you've done” Cureden hisses pointing at the numerous blood stains on the sheets and on the gown. Galen gazes sadly at them, but feels indignation prick at him despite of himself.  _

_ Cureden snorts in disgust and then turns away to collect his equipment and Galen track his movements out of anxious eyes.  _

_ He holds his left hand tightly with his right all while Cureden roughly slaps bacta on his wounds and tapes a few of the ones that need it. He wishes he’d he'd had the opportunity to slide one hand beneath his thigh till it went numb before they started to do the invasive and painful treatments on him. With a numb hand it feels like someone else is holding his hand and it comforts him, a little. _

_ Cureden mutters savagely under his breath the whole time and Galen feels himself clutching his hands together tighter and tighter until he can nearly feel the bones creaking under the pressure of his own fingers, the other man's displeasure a source of constant terror and stress to him.  _

_ Once it's done Cureden sets down the implement he'd been using on the counter with a smack, and he flinches hard at the noise, Cureden slaps him across the shoulder for the movement. Rounding on him, Cureden gestures at the blood stained sheets and the torn, bloody gown, “ you'll be cleaning this up, it's an absolute disgrace! Keeping other people awake and damaging property like this!” The little man is all but shaking with rage as his hand movements become more and more violent in his agitation. “ This” he continues his voice firm and far,far too loud, while waving a finger in Galens face, “is not to happen again, do you understand me!” _

_ Having made his point the doctor retreats to his office and Galen is left sitting alone, bloodied and filthy, a brief spark of indignation runs through him as he considers that he’d never wanted this. He knows that he will be unable to prevent it happening again just as he was unable to prevent the first occurrence. _

 

Opening his eyes, forcing the memories back into the dark spaces of his mind where they can't hurt him so much, he can see that he's cuffed to the bed, and he's not wearing his jumpsuit, or anything else causing a trickle of unease to ripple over his body. He is thirsty and a headache is pounding behind his eyes, swallowing and feeling his throat catch from lack of lubrication he runs his tongue over his lips trying to work some moisture into his mouth.

Memory return hazily, and with it brings total dread. He recalls staggering after Master and being grabbed, he doesn't know by who whether they are other Imperial or Rebel forces. He doesn't know which is worse, do all the Imperials know he's a traitor? Do they all know he's a slave? Surely the collar will give it away. The Rebels definitely think of him as a traitor, he's been told so many, many times during the course of his captivity. He's still alive, so if he has been captured then they haven't done the decent thing and killed him, resources are scarce for the Rebels if they are keeping him alive they must have a use for him.

Fear and dread overwhelm him and for a few minutes tears threaten to run down his face, his eyesight blurs with them but eventually numbness settles over him and he's able to blink the tears back, and take stock of his body. His side is numb where he was hit with the blaster, suggesting both bacta and painkillers which is an unusual combination. It suggests his new owners want his physically fit as soon as possible, maybe they need foot soldiers, Galen tries to convince himself, or slaves to do hard labour, anything other than warm beds. Surely no one would waste painkillers on a mere fuck-hole, they must want something more from him. He tries very hard to let that though comfort him, but he knows that the Rebels are aware of his role as a sex slave for the Empire.

He's still lying flat, attempting to keep himself calm and collected when the door is flung open, he hadn't realised it was an old style door, until he hears it hit the wall and bounce off.

“Get up,” a dark haired, dark eyed young man with tanned skin, dressed in a blood stained shirt, appears suddenly in his vision. Startled Galen lies absolutely still, instinct kicking in, neurone pathways that are generations old fire in a vain attempt to keep him safe. “Get up,” The newcomer says again, reaching for the nearest restrain and tugging it free, manipulating the material in harsh bad tempered tugs.

Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent any irritating sounds of pain from slipping free, Galen endures the rough handling and the instant his hands are free sets about following the orders his new Master has given him, determined to prove himself obedient and capable at tasks other than servicing his Master and his Master’s men. He slides out of bed and looks down at his bare body, he's relieved to see that he's fairly clean and there are no new aches in private places that he can discern. Without saying a word Master grabs his wrist and bends it painfully behind his back, at his instinctive jerk of surprise his collar fires and Galen let's out a pained surprised grunt. “Shut up,” Master says, distractedly rather than harshly Galen finches from his anger anyway, clicking the restraint back around his wrist and pinning his other arm at the small of his back and securing that one too. Galen tries to keep his fear from showing on his face, but the knowledge that historically naked and restrained had worked out very poorly for him is echoing around his skull at an alarming rate.

Master pushes him in the back and he takes an obedient step forwards, the door clatters open again and the smell of blood is thick in the air. A slim built man is carried in on a stretcher by a burly thick set man and two young archetypal rebels, there is blood covering his face, simply pouring from an impressive head wound. A short balding man, clearly a doctor from the assurance he wields in this medical setting, starts firing questions at the conscious men, all while gesturing at the unconscious one.

“Happy?” Master shoves him again, moving him forwards. Galen looks from the injured man to the distressed faces around him and struggles to understand what he should be happy about. “Your buddys work, you must be proud, huh?”

“N-” his denial is cut of when his elbow is tugged harsh and he's steered out of the door. “It d-” He tries to explain again that the man's injuries do not cause him any pleasure, but Master waves a hand.

“Shut it.” at the snapped words his collar flares into life and Galen presses his lips closed and refuses to make any further sounds.

He is led down several long corridors, Master scans a badge at one door which opens slowly and Master slides through as soon as there is a large enough gap. The corridor ends in a squarish alcove and along all sides are narrow door ways. Master keys a code into one and the door hisses open. Master steps inside reaching back to grab Galen's shoulder and urge him inside. Tense, but trying to relax, whatever is going to happen to him, tensing always makes the pain worse, Galen allows himself to be dragged forwards.

It's a cell, narrower but slightly longer than his old one, but much nicer, it's cleaner and there is a bunk set into one wall. A small toilet and a sink are attached to the opposing walls, the paint is peeling in the furthest corner and it's cold but compared to his cell on Eadu it's practically a palace, too nice really for him.

“Am I to stay here?” he tries to keep the amazement out of his voice, glancing over at Master. Master face darkens and he glares back, Galen feels his stomach drop, uncertain as to what he's done wrong but knowing that he has failed to meet expectations.

“Well, we're not about to just let an Imperial roam the base now are we?” Master snaps, he reaches out to Galen, Galen locks his knees refusing to let himself flinch away from the blow he's earned for displeasing Master. Master doesn't hit him but grabs his shoulder and spins him round. Galen bends forward and spreads his legs, Master let's out an angry noise and grabs at his bound wrists tugging him upright. “Stay still!” swallowing back his grunt of pain at his collars punishment Galen forces himself to stand without moving a muscle as his wrists are unbound. As soon as the bindings are off, Master storms out and the door slides shut behind him. Galen hear the heavy, metallic thud of the lack engaging and then silence falls over the little room.


	12. Chapter 12

 

For a long while he doesn't move, calculating whether the order to remain still is still active, eventually his knees begin to shake and he knows he is going to faint if he doesn't sit down. Galen looks at the bunk then slides down the wall in the corner sitting with his back pressed up against the wall, he's not been given any orders or any clues as to how he should conduct himself when he's being stored between uses.

The numbness in his side is wearing off to a dull ache, he's grateful for it, it helps to distract him. He'd hoped for rescue in the beginning of his time in the Empire's hands, he'd sometimes imagined being free, it had never involved swapping one cell for another, not even for a cell as nice as this one. By the end of his time with the Imperials he'd come to understand that his own rescue would be into the oblivion of death, disappointment settles heavy and hot in his chest. He tips his head back until it hits the wall behind him and breathes, slow and deep, until he feels calm enough to carry on, until the threat of tears and screams has receded a little.

He looks at the bed and longs to climb into it, imagines how it would feel to sleep on sheets, real sheets, how it would be to be in a bed alone, then disregards it, fantasy is dangerous he needs to remain focused. Learn how to be useful to his new masters, how to please. He doesn't have a Master who likes him any more, he's totally expendable. An old threat that got thrown his way almost daily on eadu had been that if he'd failed them they would throw him into the barracks and never let him out, that he'd be raped to death. He'd known they wouldn't while Master had been able to prevent it, not when he was still, to their knowledge, helpfully building their weaponry. Here he has no such safety net, he's on his own. His hands wrap tighter round his knees and he gulps audibly. He wonders how long such a death would take.

After the prickling feeling of unease, discomfort of being in an unfamiliar environment with no rules to guide him, becomes to much to bear out in the open, he crawls over to the bunk and slides underneath it. Tucked up in the corner, his back to the walls the bunk hiding him and adding a layer of protection, he knows that he'll have to come out when ordered but at first glance his cell will appear empty,  this might prevent opportunistic passers by at least.

Loud swearing startles him awake and he bashes his head on the bunk above him, disorientated and in pain, Galen curls into a smaller ball and braces himself for agony.

“What are you doing?”

Galen peaks between the gaps of his fingers at Masters furious face, and swallows, before biting into the inside of his cheek, he tastes blood and feels tears well up.

“Get out, come on,”

His collar flares into life and Galen begins to struggle out of his hidey hole, Master reaches in and takes a hold of his arm, for all of his anger Masters grip doesn't tighten cruely.

Out from under the bed Galen remains on his knees at Master feet, he's quaking with shock and terror, his naked body cold and clumsy.

“What were you doing under there?”

“Master..Master, I… I'm sorry, I didn't- I don't understand.. I” he struggles to articulate his upset over whatever wrongdoing it is that he's committed through his terror.

“Master? Why.. don't call me that. What are you doing? Why didn't you even bother to get dressed?” Master's voice gets louder and shriller by the end he's nearly shrieking the words at Galen.

Shuddering, unable to believe that he's in trouble for _not_ wearing clothes, Galen tries to find the words to explain, he doesn't even have clothes. His collar is dispensing sharp agonizing jolts, and he can't stop the tears from falling down his face. “Master, clothes? I didn't know. I'm sorry Master. Please.”

“You didn't know you were supposed to wear clothes? There are some on your bed, you couldn't figure that out?”

Galen feels the blood draining out of his face, feels it physically being leached out of his extremities, as his panic rises to unsustainable levels, he cranes his head over his shoulder and sees that here is a bundle of folded cloth near the pillows on the bunk. He doesn't dare tell Master that even if he'd seen them he wouldn't have put them on, they look far too nice for him to even touch without permission. The idea of wearing them without permission sends waves of nausea through him. He sways on his knees as he turns back round to face Master, lifting his head to look Master in the face, his eyes wide with terror.

“Mast-”

“Don't.call.me.that.” each word is spat at him savagely.

Galen stops breathing, he can make his lungs inflate just kneels frozen at Masters feet.

“Hey, hey, come on, don't.” Masters voice is panicked and he reaches for Galen. Galen screws his eyes closed, air finally reaching his lung in a terrified gasp, tears streaming down his face. He doesn't know what it is he's supposed to not be doing. He bends forward presses his forehead into the floor at Masters feet, displaying the length of his back for Master to punish him, he should pull his hands behind his back but he can't make himself move them from where they are clenched into white bloodless fists near his face.

Master grabs his shoulders and even though they are the only ones in the room, he can feel hands on his hips too, tight grip, nails digging into his skin, breath on the back of his shoulders, thrusts into him hard, fast harsh thrusts, a man's voice groaning into his ear that this is all he's good for, his only use. His body is being jolted, pained cries slipping out one after another.

The sound of running footsteps push him a little closer to reality, the feeling of another body on his, moving in his fades a little, is this how the rebels will punish him?

“He just stopped and- ahh, hey come on, you're ok, get up, get up-”

“Shhhh, Cassian! You'll set his collar off.”

“Collar? Wha- That thing? What does it have to do-”

“Leave it, I'll tell you later just go. Ok, let me sort this, go get some food sorted out, we'll be along in a few minutes, ok?”

Footsteps retreat and the door hisses closed but the lock does not engage, Galen calmer now that there are fewer people in the room and the flashback, he now realises, is over.

“Galen?” a familiar voice whispers to him, and it takes a moment to understand that the voice means him, it's bewilderment more than obedience that makes him lift his head and view the speaker. His head swims as he sits up and a hand reaches out to steady him, but he flinches back adrenaline spiking.

“Sorry. Sorry, here i'll just- take your time, no rush.”

Beyond grateful for the unexpected reprieve, Galen hugs his arms around his body, sniffs and blinks his eyes clear, before looking at the newcomer, Bodhi.

Bodhi lowers himself to sit on the floor a few meters away, sitting cross legged, his long limbs folded underneath himself, his breathing is slightly elevated and his eyes are a little wet. “Hey,” he says, voice soft, once he is settled, “better?”

Galen nods, without thinking about it, not wanting to disagree with any free person, regardless of how well he knows them.

“Sorry about that it's been crazy here, I told Cassian what it was like for you but-” Bodhi stops abruptly much to Galen's relief he doesn't need to hear the end of that statement he knows what the rebels think of him. He nods, letting the last of his tension shudder out of him on a sigh.

“You'll be alright here, it took them a while to warm to me too, but it's fine now. Do you need a minute? Or do you want to get dressed?”

“Whatever you want,” Galen says his voice sounds tight and he makes an effort to clear his throat, “i'll do whatever you want.” he admits again.

“It's not what I..,” Bodhi sighs, “right, come on, clothes then food? Sound good?”

Better than he'd dared hope really, especially after having upset Master, but he's not about to refuse a free meal, so he nods. Bodhi steps cautiously past him and gathers the stack of clothes of the bed.

“Here,” Bodhi drops them into Galen’s lap, and he can't resist stroking over the material carefully with one finger, it's far softer than his old jumpsuit and looks comfier than the uniform he'd been given to wear. It suddenly occurs to him, that he's being entrusted with clothing after having ruined his old set, and he resolves to care for this set carefully. Standing up he sways again, his legs shake, he leans his leg against the bunk as he shakes the clothes out. Underwear and socks drop out of the bundle onto the floor. Galen stares from them to Bodhi and back again, amazed, he hasn't been issued with underwear for more than fifteen years.

“Do you need help?”

Shaking his head, he gathers up the fallen clothes and steps into his underwear, then pulls his trousers, soft and clean, on over the top before getting the shirt and the thicker sweater on, he wants to sit on the edge of the bunk to pull his socks on, but doesn't dare standing awkwardly on one leg at a time to pull them on. When he's done he looks down at his feet, he hasn't seen them covered since he was taken, it's disconcerting to see it now. He wriggles his toes and watches the sock clad toes move.

“Breakfast?” he's pulled from his musings by Bodhi’s gentle query. Bodhi’s face is somber as he watches him, flushing under the scrutiny Galen nods, biting his lip, hoping he's made the right choice. He's got so many luxuries to lose now, he needs to make the correct choices to please his Masters and perhaps be allowed to keep them. Bodhi leads the way and he follows anxiously behind, they pass a few people but no one even looks at them.

The canteen is very busy, there are people everywhere, and as he walks along bodies push past his own, each time it happens adrenaline surges through him, sweat gathers on his top lip and fine trembling begins in his hands. He balls them into fists trying to hide it. Bodhi weaves through the crowd, and stops at a table in the corner. Master is already sat, a K2-so unit is next to him and the unconscious man from the night before, looking tired and wan but in much better shape than the night before, is now sitting with another man. It's the big man who smiles at Galen, Galen gulps, a man that size, with that much muscle will be able to really hurt him. The smile drops off the other man's face.

“This is kay, Baze and Chirrut.” Cassian says flapping a hand that encompases the entire table, but doesn't actaually give Galen any indication as to which is which.

“Sit, sit.”

Galen drops down to kneel beside Master’s chair at the softly spoken order, at the sharp inhales he looks up, dread pooling in his stomach as he realises that once again he's got it wrong. Master is watching him, wide eyed, “No, no.” He starts. Galen bites back a hiss as his collar reacts and his pain must register on his face as Masters eyes widen impossibly further, but it's Bodhi who steps in.

“It's fine Galen. Cassian you need to be careful you're setting his collar off again, it hurts him. Galen can you sit in one of the chairs?”

Cassian looks between them then says shakily, “Yeah, in one of the chairs please there's no need- I mean if that's what you prefer, but it will be better - easier if you just-”

The heavy set man pulls a chair out and gestures between it and Galen, who slides into it with as much grace as he can manage, sits on the very edge, prepared to drop back down onto his knees at the slightest indication that that is what is required of him.

“Good, yeah, well done.” Master soothes, and he feels his shoulders relax a little some of the tension slipping away. “Let's get some food then.” Master pushes back from the table and heads off through the crowd that is now staring at them, ashamed and afraid Galen leans a little closer towards the table's surface, slumping down further out of direct sight.

Dead silence descends, Bodhi continues to look at Galen then away the back, while Baze doesn't even bother to look away just stares, his face creased with worry.

Cassian returns and places a bowl in from of Galen. Galen looks down at it, steam is rising gently off it's surface and it smells good. Trying not to hope too much he tears his eyes away from it, “is this?” he gestures at the bowl and then very hesitantly back at himself, expecting to hear laughter.

“Yes?” Master replies looking uncertain, “do you not like it.”

Galen boggles at the mere idea of not liking food, he can remember having preferences but that had been a long time ago, “I like anything Master,” he assures, “FOOD,” he blurts quickly hearing how the phrase had sounded, “I like food.” Master nods like it makes sense. He waits for permission to eat, watching the steam curl and feeling his stomach growl with anticipation.

“Galen?” Bodhi asks.

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you want it?”

“Yes. Please, sir.”

“Well.” Bodhi pushes the bowl at him a little, nudging it closer.

“What do i have to do?” He dreads asking but doesn't dare touch it without knowing what's expected of him.

“Eat it.” Master says slowly, drawing the words out, while his brow furrows and he looks at Bodhi his shoulders rising in a shrug.

Amazed he pulls the bowl further in towards his chest curling an arm around it protectively, and begins to eat the soup, the first mouthful is the nicest thing that's happened to him, probably in years.

“What did you do to him yesterday, Cassian?” Baze demands a touch of steel in his voice, and Galen notices Master bristle.

“Nothing! What do you think I did?”

“Nothing is what i was afraid of! Please tell me you at least got him a meal? Did he? Did you? You fed him? You didn't just have him locked away without feeding him?”

“I...erm.. Look things were very busy last night, i had to prioritise.”

“So you just left him?”

“As far as we know he was working with the Empire, Baze. I didn't have infinite time to deal with rogue Imperials just after we've been attacked, there was a lot to do last night.”

Listening to the conversation Galen feels stirring of unease, he doesn't like the reminder that everyone knows exactly what his role within the Empire was. He keeps eating his soup, he's not been told to stop, and he doesn't want to be punished for being ungrateful.

“I get that we were busy, but really, Cassian, I don't think he should just have been left. Or even left the Med bay.”

“We needed the space I moved the least injured person, this had nothing to do with his allegiances.”

The mention of his Imperial past has Galen slumping still further towards the table, his belly clenches and cramps, the soup that had been such  treat is now rising in his throat and sweat is breaking out over his face, his hands trembling with the strain.

“Nothing?”

“YES! It had-”

At the sudden shout, Galen jumps, the sudden motion triggers his gag reflex and the contents of his sour stomach makes a bid for freedom before he has a chance to move and to his horror he's vomiting all over the floor.

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to PhoenixxWispp for helping to write this chapter! She's been a gem in helping me out, when I've been stuck this week!

Freezing in place Galen looks down at the mess, slowly he raises his eyes to look at his Master. Terror floods through him, like ice in his veins, leaving his limbs shaking and his stomach still revolting.

“M’sorry Master,” he mumbles exhausted, “Sir,” he corrects himself as his collar protests. “I'm so sorry, sir. I'll clean it. I'll clean it up if you just tell me wher-”

“Shhhh,” Baze soothes, speaking like he's talking to a frightened child, holding both his big hands out flat palms facing the ceiling. “It's alright, accidents happen. Not your fault, happens to the best of us. Right, Cassian.” He looks over at Cassian who’s surveying the mess, and moving Chirrut away so he won't dirty his shoes. “ I said, right Cassian?” Baze says a little louder, more firmly. Cassian turns having clearly not been listening, confusion written over his face, Baze nods at Galen who stares back, twisting his hands together miserably.

“Right,” Master says, nodding, “right, yeah, that's right.”

“Yes, sir.” Galen murmurs, so full of misery it's hard to speak around the burning lump of it that's sitting in his throat. Besides him the K2-SO unit looks at him and at the mess then wanders off before returning with cleaning supplies.

“Baze is right, this isn't your fault.” The droid, looks up at Galen, twisting its head at an unnatural angle, Galen feels a shudder pass through him, they had had similar units on Eadu and they weren't programmed to be this helpful, not to slaves. “If blame is to be assigned it would have to be assigned properly and 87.35% would be attributed to you, Cassian.”

“Me?”

“Yes, feeding an underweight individual shortly after a period of significant stress is very likely to produce digestive distress, given that the stress was due to your handling of-”

“Alright, Kay, thanks. That's helpful. You could have told me the odds of that happening if they were so high!”

“Now you want to know the odds? That makes a change.”

Sighing and shaking his head Cassian turns away from the droid. “ How are you, do you still feel sick? Would you like a glass of water?”

“I..?”

“One question at a time Cassian. Go easy.” The little man, that Galen suddenly realises is blind puts a hand on Cassian's sleeve. “ Go easy on him, you've had a tough time haven't you.” To his horror Galen feels his eyes start to fill and he looks down and away. “Go on, Cassian, go and get him some water.”

Cassian leaves, with a backward glance at Galen. He returns with a glass of water, setting down on the table, small droplets of water are sliding down the outside of the glass, dripping onto the table. Galen watches the water droplets, calming slightly as he watches gravity at work, the simplicity of what he sees soothing after the chaos of the past day.

“Small sips, not too much.” Chirrut prompts and Galen glances at Cassian, who nods, and so he takes a tiny sip. It's just water so he takes another, then mindful to prove himself obedient he gently sets the glass down.

“I think, Galen, that we should go down to engineering.” Galen flinches hard, knocks the table with his shin, the injury is surprisingly sore for something so minor, between the panic and the pain he wants to weep and beg for mercy.

“What? What's wrong? Galen? Why is he crying?”

“What did you say to him?”

“I.. I just said- engineering. That collar needs to come off. He can't go around like that forever you know.”

“Galen?” Bodhi crouches in front of him, settling a hand just above his knee, hovering in the air above it. “ Try to calm down, breathe, breathe with me, yeah? In- and out. Yeah, that's good, keep going. In- and out.”

Galen breathes through his terror, he'd known he would be punished for throwing up, but being send down to engineering, that sounds suspiciously like being send to the barracks. At the memory of the barracks his breathing fractures apart again and he needs to spend another few minutes getting it back under control.

“Galen,” Master nudges Bodhi aside gently, then looks up at him, for a moment all Galen can think is how strange it is that they keep calling him Galen, that's not been his name for years. He's been called whore, or slut, Galen is someone else, he isn't sure that man still exists. “Did the engineering department frighten you?”

“Yes, Mas- sir.”

“Cassian, my name is Cassian. There is nothing scary there, honest, I just want to get your collar off, Bodhi says it hurts you? We've got a guy called Noris down there, he'll be able to take a look at it. See if we can't get it off, ok?”

“Yes, sir.” He says reflexively, his horror drains away and he feels exhausted, drained beyond anything he's ever felt before.

“Can you come now? Or do you want to wait for a few minutes?”

“Now, sir” the sooner the better, it's hard to know that something bad is about to happen but waiting for it and anticipating how bad it might be is at least as bad as having it happen.

Cassian climbs to his feet and Galen hears his knees click, then he holds out a hand and pulls Galen up onto his feet.”come on, let's go now then. Noris will be there but the department will be quiet, most people are at lunch right now.” On his feet Galen follows after Cassian, Cassian walks fast and Galen struggles to keep up, his body is malnourished and weak, his legs shake and his head swims. His injured side aches as he walks, they descend a flight of stairs and each one sends a sharp stab of pain through his abdomen. He is sweaty and pale when the stairs end, he catches sight of his reflection in a window, he looks wide eyed and terrified. He tries to arrange his features into something less pathetic but the man in the glass looks just as beaten and sad.

Cassian opens a door, and Galen is met with the smell of metal and smoke, “Noris? You here?”

“Eh, Andor? What do you want?”

“My friend here has an Imperial torture device on him and we need it off?” Noris appears, he's wearing safety goggles and he blinks owlishly through them at Cassian as though he's grown an extra head.

“A torture device?”

“Yeah, a collar.”

Noris pushes the goggles up onto his head, his thinning grey hair gets pushed up off his head revealing a large bald spot. “Let's have a look then.”

Cassian steps aside and Galen has a hysterical moment where he considers hiding behind him or diving under one of the workbenches. Noris pauses then hold out a hand, “ Noris.” He states, holding his hand out while Galen blinks at it wandering what's happening, after a long moment Noris pulls it back and tilts his head, regarding Galen closely. “You alright, son? You don't look so well. Come and sit down.” He pulls out a chair and Cassian presses gently on Galen's shoulder until he sits.

Sitting, he tenses, his arms coming up and hanging uselessly before he forces himself to lower them, as Noris walks up behind him. “ Can I touch it?”

“Yes, sir” he whispers.

He feels Noris’s questing fingers on his neck and forces himself to endure their touch. He stares ahead at the wall and counts backwards in increasing prime numbers to occupy himself.

After what feels like a very long time but according to the clock on the wall is barely quarter of an hour Noris steps back.

“Nasty bit of kit that,” he sucks his lips against his teeth with a squeaking sound. “Very nasty. Been on for a long time?”

“About fifteen years, I'm not sure exactly, sir, sorry.”

“ Don't be sorry, lad. Don't be sorry. Let's concentrate on getting that off.” He wanders off still muttering, shaking his head to himself as he goes.

Cassian hops up onto the workbench perching on it, swinging his legs a little. “I'm sorry I left you like that last night, there was a lot to do, things were pretty manic but I shouldn't have just dumped you in a cell like that. I'm sorry.”

The apology is unexpected and Galen isn't sure what to do in the face of.

“S’alright, sir.” He mumbles rubbing one of his fingers along the outermost seam of his pants, up and down.

Cassian sighs deeply and reaches out but pulls back when Galen twitches, unable to prevent himself despite how much he hates himself for it. “ It's not really, not at all but thank you anyway.”

Noris appears again with a huge box of stuff in his hands which he sets on the bench next to Cassian. “ Get down, you don't know what's been on these benches and now it's on your clothes. What's not alright?”

“I didn't handle yesterday very well.”

“Hmmm,” Noris’s eye brows come down so far they nearly obscure his eyes while he looks at Cassian, “ you always could be hasty. I remember when you were only this high,” he gestures at about the height of the workbench, “always trying to head off with the fighter pilots. We had to drag him out of a fighter about once a week, you know.”  Galen nods without looking at either of them,  and Noris huffs a laugh. “ Strong and silent type. That's you, lad. Alright, I'm going to hook this up to your collar, has it ever had maintenance? No? I didn't think so, looks like precious little care was taken over you, son. You know the more I hear about these Imperials the less I like.” He grins at Cassian who grins back in the face of this old, old joke.

“So, that's that, it should prevent the collar from firing when I disable it, if you feel anything tell me at once, you got that? I mean it, you feel anything, you tell me! Good. In three, one, two-”

Galen braces himself for agony as the light on the little machine comes on but nothing happens.

“That alright? Good, that's good. Now what to use to get this off? How did they get it on? Ahh, no wait I've found it, a lock! You've still got that droid? He'll be able to override this quicker than I can.”

Cassian finally hops down from the bench and wanders over to a comms-unit left abandoned on a nearby fabricator unit. He flips it on and has a brief one sided conversation.

“How long have you been back with us? Noris asks while drumming his fingers along the side of the bench, seemingly determined to drag Galen into small talk.

“24 hours, I think.”

“Ahh, so not long,” there's a long pause and Galen wracks his brain for something, anything to say, clearly this Master wants him to talk, but he has nothing to talk about. Thankfully Kay appears, his lanky stride bringing him quickly across the room.

“Can you override this?”

“with only 2.67 billion settings anyone could override this given enough time.”

“Kay,” Cassian says sounding fond and exasperated. “ Can you do it before the sun burns out?”

“ Statistically not before one of them does, but definitely before the closest one will. I'm not sure that such a time frame will bring much comfort to Galen, most carbon based life forms don't have comparable life spans to stars.”

“Please can you just overrode that lock?” Noris asks, “ today please, some of us still have work that needs doing.” Galen wants to protest that this doesn't have to be done, that he's fine, but Noris beats him to it. “And this is important, lad’s been wearing that thing,” his tone is of deep disgust, “for far far too long.”

Kay steps up and due to the proximity Galen can't see what he's doing. After a few moments of whirring and clicking he hears a louder click, then the collar goes loose. It's such a surprise he sways and slips of the chair as he can swallow unobstructed for the first time in more than a decade. Hands grab for him and he flinches. One set of hands releases him but the other remains rubbing soothingly at his shoulders, murmuring in a different language.

A loud clang drags him into a higher level of consciousness, Noris has thrown the collar into a nearby wastebasket. Where it sits looking benign and innocuous.

Raising a trembling hand Galen flinches when his fingers meet a ring of raw flesh around his neck, he hadn't even realised that the collar had rubbed away at his skin until he can feel the air on it.

”Are you ok to stand? Let's get you to the med bay, get that wound dressed.”

Galen tenses under the hands that are on him.

“Or we can do that tomorrow, you need a full check up, get it all done at once? One visit? Would you prefer that? Ok, well let me dress this upstairs then? Good, well, ok then. Kay? Can you tell the others we are coming back up? And get the first aid kit? Meet us in rec room 4? Great!”

Kay strides off, and Cassian helps him to his feet, thanks Noris, who looks anxiously at Galen. “Take it easy lad, you need some rest.”

“Thank you.” Galen says meaning it, finally.

“Welcome, son. Welcome. Now go lie down before you fall down again, you're dead on your feet.” Noris rubs at his bicep then let's go and walks away. He waves once then disappears into his office at the back of the shop.

Cassian leads them out, towards what Galen can only assume is Rec room 4, when they get there he's greeted by a large nearly empty room with sagging sofas along three of the four walls and maps covering the last one.

Baze has the first aid kit spread out on the seat of one of the sofas.

“ Can you sit here?” He asks gesturing at the adjacent one.

“Yes, sir.” Galen forces the words out, exhaustion dragging them down, wondering where the rest of his vocabulary went.

Baze gets to work on his neck as soon as he's sat, Galen can feel himself nodding off, the tiny pinpricks of pain, barely registering after all that's been done to him over the years.

“That's you done.” Baze says smoothing a last piece of medical tape down. “ You look like you need a nap.”

Heart fluttering in panic, Galen sits upright and tries to look alert. “ I'm fine, I'm alright, sir. What do you need me to do?”

“Try to eat again.” Chirrut prompts into the silence, “you need some nourishment. A smaller bowl of soup this time, take it slowly, no one will take it.” He looks right at Galen and it's disconcerting when he remembers that Chirrut is blind. “No one will take it from you, it's yours, I promise.”

It's Bodhi who wanders off to get him another bowl of soup, Cassian disappears leaving him with Baze and Chirrut. Thankfully neither try to drag him into conversation, seemingly happy to let him mull over the day's events without their input.

Cassian returns first baring a little bowl, made of brownish material. “ In case you get sick again,” he hands it over, “bathrooms there, but if you don't make it you've got this. Don't worry either way. It's not hard to clear up, whatever happens. Even if you like on the carpet it's not the end of the world, but still take this, just in case.”

Bodhi enters with a bowl of soup, it's not even half full and he has a spoon clenched in the other hand. “ Here.”

Galen takes it, and sips at the soup. Almost immediately his belly clenches and sweat starts up on his brow, he puts the bowl down and breathes. Despite his proactive attempts his belly clenches and he struggles off the sofa and into the bathroom. The smell of bleach does the work for him and he gags, bringing up the tiny amount of soup while his body revolts.

To his great relief on his return the bowl has gone and another glass of water is in it's place.

“Bed time?” Cassian drags a hand through his hair, looks around at nothing in particular as far as Galen can tell. “Yeah, bedtime, come on, let's get you settled.”

Disappointment floods through his chest, despite how he tries to prevent it, of course Master would want to use him, there might not be any collar anymore but Galen had learned his lessons and he learned them well.

“Yes, master.” He murmurs, determined not to forget his place, not to hope, it just makes everything worse.

“Cassian, it's Cassian, no, no, oh, please don't get upset.”

Galen's breath hitches, half from frustration and half from fear from being wrong, he'd been given one order and he'd messed it up. “ Sorry, Cassian.”

“ Don't be, it's been a long day, you're tired. Let's get you into bed, things will seem better in the morning.”

Cassian stands up and leads the way down the corridor, and Galen trails after him trying to relax and blank his mind, to find that perfect mental state, where he is present enough to react to orders but is absent enough that he can do most of what he has to on autopilot without having to engage his mind and be truly aware of what is happening to him.

Cassian opens the door of a little room, it's worn and dimly lit, with simple furnishings, and pushes open the far door. Through the doorway Galen can see a tiny washroom and toilet. He hasn't been permitted to shower inside for years, baring when Bodhi had ordered him, so it's a massive shock when Cassian waves between shower and himself.

“Me?”

“Yes?” Cassian pulls the word apart slowly as he answers, glancing from the shower to Galen and back again as though he's expecting the shower to turn into something else. After a moment Cassian gathers himself, steps inside and turns the unit on, the water begins to flow. Cassian crosses back over the threshold into the bedroom and rummages through the drawers pulling out a shirt and a pair of loose fitting black pants. He tosses them to Galen who nearly doesn't catch them as he looks behind him first to see who they are for. Then he nearly kicks himself for being ungrateful and grabs them out of the air, hugging them to his body.

“Ok, go get showered and changed. I'll be back in a few minutes.” Cassian smiles and leaves the room, the door slides shut behind him.

Not knowing how long 'a few minutes’ will really be Galen hurries to get undressed and into the shower, determined to be ready before Master returns and want him. In the shower he cleans thoroughly as he'd been taught, and quickly fingers himself open, wincing as his fingers press up against unhealed parts of himself left behind by his previous owners. Climbing out the dries himself quickly then dresses in the clothing that Cassian had provided for him, before stepping out into the bedroom. To his infinite relief Cassian has not yet returned, he isn't quite sure how he should greet his Master's return, never having pleased this Master before he has no prior knowledge of his likes or dislikes.

After a few moments of deliberating he sinks into his knees just in front of the bed, assuming that his positioning looks eager enough even if he can't manage to quite prevent his hands from shaking or keep all the fear out of his eyes.

Cassian comes back only a few minutes later, he's holding his glass of water, and he stops dead in the doorway. Water sops over the side of the glass and Cassian drags his eyes off Galen to wipe his wet hand down the front of his leg.

“What are you doing?”

“Mast- um, Cassian. I..” Galen looks around trying to guage where he should be, internally furious with himself for getting Cassian's name wrong again. So much for showing the Rebels he can be an asset outside of the bedroom, when all he's done is thrown up all over them and proven that he can't obey even the simplest of instructions.

“Come on, into bed,” Cassian puts the water down on the little cupboard next to the bed. Galen hurries to his feet and slides onto the mattress, lying face down with his legs slightly spread, there is a very long pause, the silence is full of some emotion that Galen can't quite place and he doesn't dare look back at Cassian. He flinches violently when something drops over his body and it takes a few frantic heartbeats before his brain identifies it as a sheet.

“Try to stay in bed, it'll be more comfortable for you than sleeping on the floor. If you need anything we are all on the same corridor.”

Galen doesn't move or speak too confused, he hears Cassian's retreating footsteps then the light goes out and the door closes.

His initial problem is that after so many years of being kept in a half lit room, he now discovers he's uneasy in the total darkness. His skin prickles with anxiety at the, admittedly unlikely, though of Rebels hiding in the darkness, waiting for him to relax. Despite how stupid he feels at the though his anxiety remains. However, Cassian's words gnaw at him, if he needs them, was that a hint? Was he supposed to need them? Should he be going to them?

Tears leak over his face, born of frustration and fear, he wishes he could be given simpler orders. He'd been called stupid for years by the Imperials all while building their weapons and putting a flaw into the strongest one, so he'd never truly felt it. He'd felt dirty, used, cheap, every inch the whore they had made him into but never stupid. After only around 24 hours with the rebels he feels like the least intelligent person to ever exist.

The bed feels too soft, it feels decadent, indecent to be lying in it without having paid for the privilege, he's not slept in one for years, his only experience of beds of late have not been happy, lying on one leaves him feeling vulnerable, the shower gel just beginning to ooze out of him doesn't help with this at all.


	14. Chapter 14

_He lands with a thud, knocking the air from his lungs, the sound of the door sliding shut loud in his ears, looking around wildly, it's the first time he's ever been thrown into the barracks but he's been threatened with it for years. He needs to hide or get away quickly.._

  
_Heads swivel in his direction, eyes flit up and down talking in his body._

  
_Slowly, so, so slowly, they approach him, more than a dozen of them, overpowering, overwhelming the single slave they have in their grasp._

  
_His arm is twisted and someone kneels on the palm of his hand, grinding his knuckles into the floor._

  
_Hands skim lightly over his bare flesh, slipping into every crevice, brushing over his lips, fluttering soft as a butterfly across his cheek._

  
_A thrill, races through the room, spurring the men into action._

_His clothes gone, flesh bared for all to see, his nudity calling to them._

  
_Invasion, his own moan of pain, limbs shaking, agony arching over his skin, each thrust, every touch a torment. Tears on his face, body trembling, ribs heaving as sobs ripple out with every breath._

  
_It's so hot, his hair is sticking to his face, and sweat is beading on his body. Heat pours of the sated bodies lounging around, their flesh pressed into his._

  
_“Oh, what's the matter slut? Have you had enough?”_

  
_He nods, his body utterly limp in their grasp, no longer daring to resist, terror spiking at the thought of more, just hoping, praying, to go unnoticed. Let it end, please, please let it end, let it be over. No more, oh, please, no more._

  
_For a barest hint of a second, he dares to believe that perhaps he's appeased his tormentors, perhaps they will let him go, even if  just for a while, let him rest, but his only response is a finger trailing over his lips, throaty laughter, mocking words._

  
_Then someone's hand is in his hair again,carding through the limp strands, someone  yanks him, tugs at him, forcing him up into a kneeling position again, hands tight on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh._

  
_A body crowds behind him, he can't back away and someone else's hand is on his face, prying his mouth open. His face is pressed forwards, his mouth forcibly filled. He has nowhere to go, no leverage to escape._

  
_He screams, and screams, struggling, and struggling, fighting the heavy body that's on holding down his own, invading him, that's hurting him..._

  
Galen jolts, and stills instantly under the hands on his body. His breathing is coming in huge, shuddering gasps, he cuts the scream off, biting the sound back, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Disorientated and confused but certain that making a fuss will lead only to very great pain.

The room is very dark, and he doesn't know where he is, but the body half covering his is real so he goes limp and turns his head away, surrendering to the inevitable. Screwing his eyes closed in the dark hiding from the monsters.  
“Galen?”

Galen flinches, a whole body twitch away from the soft word, away from the implications of another body near his. The voice is male, he shivers his breath hitching. He struggles to wake up enough to make sense of what is happening, why he's in a bed, why he was allowed to sleep there.

  
The body leaves his, and he breathes a little easier, the surface under him tilts and dips as the weight is redistributed. A click and the room is dimly illuminated, casting deep shadows into the corners.  
Despite the dimness of the light, reflexive tears, jump to Galen’s eyes, and he squints against the glare, shading his eyes and running at them trying to adjust.

  
Dark eyes, circled by shadows, blink worriedly at him.

  
“Galen?”

  
He twitches again at the sound of his, all but forgotten name, all the while trying to dredge the man's chosen moniker out of his sleep fogged memory.

  
Cassian sits, perched on the edge of the bed, his face is tired, creases from his sheets are embedded into his cheek and his hair is crumpled into whorls and peaks on one side.

  
He's dressed though, light shirt and shorts covering his tan skin, he's got one sock on, his bare foot crossed over his knee.

  
“Yes, Ca- Cassian?”

  
In the near silence of the room he can't bring himself to speak above a whisper, his voice catching and fading as he tries to force out the sounds.

  
“Are you alright?”Galen understands the question, but cannot fathom its meaning with regards to himself.“You were screaming..”

  
It's whispered hesitantly, Galen wishes he could grasp the nuances of Cassian's speech. He sounds so sad, as though he's been hurt. Dulled by sleep Galen can't figure out the intricacies of the situation in which he finds himself.

  
Sadness is an emotion that hasn't been directed at Galen for more than a decade really and he doesn't know how to respond. This was not going well at all, he thinks alarmed. He was already proving to be an inconvenience, sickly, unable to eat, waking everybody up in the middle of the night, like a child, he curses himself. Maybe he should be denying his distress, he shouldn't be causing his captors..  the rebels problems, but after fifteen years of captivity, he no longer dares to lie. Galen shut his eyes as the dread at his failure takes over, obliterating everything else.

  
“I.. I'm.. I was.." He swallows, "m' sorry Mas-Cassian,” exhaustion and terror slurring his words.

  
In the end falling back onto his training seems like the easiest and the safest route, to apologise and hope for mercy.

  
Except not with here, he thinks exhausted, no one here respond normally, naturally towards him and he doesn't know how they expect him to behave. There are no rules for him to follow, he's just lurching from disaster to disaster.

True to form, Cassian shakes his head. “No, it's not.. you're not in trouble” He reaches out and places a hand on Galens bicep, he tugs forward gently. Galen follows the guiding pressure of the palm encircling his arm, until he's pressed into Cassian's side, his face tucked into Cassian's shoulder.

  
Galen holds himself stiffly in the embrace, wondering if this is a prelude to some sort of assault on him. But the hands on his back don't move downwards, they don't grope or begin to tug at his clothes.

  
One broad palm, sweeps up and down his back, bumping over each and every vertebrae that protrudes from his spine.

  
Gradually Galen relaxes in the warmth of the hold. Cassian doesn't ask him questions, the touch on his flesh does not become aggressive, he simply quietly soothes. Galen soaks up the embrace he has been needing for years, allows the comfort of a non threatening touch to sink into his bones.

  
His head drops further onto Cassian's shoulder, the warmth of the other man's muscular frame easing the ache of his wounds.

  
His breathing evens out and his eyes begin to slide slowly closed despite his best intentions.

Galen prises his eyes open, the room is bathed in dim light, turning the little room into a cavern of shadows. An arm is slung over his waist and he's pulled back against a strong body. An erection is pressed firmly against him.

  
For a long moment he doesn't even dare move, he holds his breath and fights to keep his muscles loose and pliant, to prevent the man behind him from waking.

  
Soft snuffles snores rasp quietly into his ear, tousling his hair with their inhilations. Somehow the slight noise comforts him and calms his hammering heart, it grounds him enough that he's able to think, to remember everything. Even if the recollections make little sense to Galen he understands that his circumstances have changed. For the better or the worse he doesn't yet know.

  
Galen stills within Cassian’s embrace, steadfastly ignoring both the erection pressing against him and his bladders niggling.

  
Finally Cassian awakes with a sleepy twitch. He rolls away from Galen, taking his body heat with him and Galen feels a pang at its loss despite the implicit threat the other man's proximity had brought.

  
Galen watches as Cassian blinks awake, then freezes as Cassian's face hardens, dread sweeps through him and blood leeches out of his extremities in his panic.

  
But Cassian merely looks around, catches Galen’s eye and smiles. He still looks tired, but he looks less anxious than he did during the night, so Galen smiles cautiously back.

  
Cassian sits up and swings his legs out of bed, “come on, you've got an appointment to get to.”

  
His heart rate had just barely begun to drop back into a regular rhythm, but at the words it begins to pick up again. Fear at the unknown pricks at him, and he wishes he could understand properly, how he could be useful here, how to gain some security beyond the whims of those around him.

  
For a moment he wishes he had died, instead of being rescued. He considers if he might find a way to end it all. The idea of changing hands over and over again when he fails to meet the unspecified expectations, was too much to cope with. His head feels light and he closes his eyes against the rush of volatile emotions.

  
"Are you going to dispose of me?" Galen  inquires as blandly as he can manage. While bracing himself for the response, unsure whether to hope for such an end now or not.

  
Cassian turns to him his eyes huge, his whole body ticks towards Galen in response to his words.

  
“No!”

  
Galen feels his breath quicken, and become uneven. "I'm sorry,"  he says uncertainly. "I know I've got… I have no right to demand answers from you. I just…. I want to know how I can be useful."

  
Cassian shakes his head and Galen feels his body begin to shake. “You don't need to be useful,” Cassian reassures.

  
Galen feels the bottom drop out of his existence, as the small flame of hope he'd carried that he truly was free gets smothered. If he isn't to provide a use with his mind then surely the only thing left is to serve with his body.

  
He takes a single breath, it catches wetly. He bites it back, the hitching of his breathing as pathetic as a child's.

  
“Please,” the plea slips out without his conscious permission, he forces himself to stop, knowing he's only making things worse.

  
“What? What's wrong?” Cassian looks frightened now, bewildered too.

For a moment Galen hates him, hates him for the temptation of freedom he offered, hates him for whatever game he's playing now.

  
“Please, I can be useful, I know about the Death Star. Please.. don't..” he struggles to articulate his desire to not be touched without rejecting their rights to his body. “ Don't play games with me,” his voice shivers as he begs, even Galen does know if he means mental games or physical ones.

  
Cassian reaches out, same as he had the previous night as tries to stroke Galen back to serenity.  
Galen fights back a scream of frustration and terror, all the emotions spinning and mixing, coalescing into a knotted mess.

  
His frail body cannot withstand the demands his tantrum places upon it, and gradually he calms as he grows to weary to maintain his fright. His emotions drain away leaving him utterly numb.

  
“Alright,” Cassian tells him once his body's juddering has ceased.” No games, I'll tell you what's going to happen and if you can't do it then we will work it out until you can.”

  
It's not what he had secretly hoped for but it's better than nothing, and being beaten into obedience is nothing new, so he nods then ducks his head letting his hair obscure his face. Hiding his expression so he can have as much privacy as he can while he is told of his fate.

 

“You need a check up, your side is still healing, it'll be nothing bad, it won't hurt.” Cassian's voice is pitched to be reassuring and Galen chooses to take his explanation at face value.

  
Hiding his unease of medical staff and their predilections, he nods and allows himself to be coaxed along.

  
When they enter the medbay Galen trails behind Cassian, he won't allow himself to misbehave by trying to hide behind the other man's body. He knows it won't work, but he can't adequately disguise his reluctance.

  
Two members of staff walk over, an older man who looks haggard and worn with a younger woman. The doctor draws Cassian to one side, while the nurse urges Galen to sit on a bed.

He sits gingerly on the bed, Cassian is a few meters away talking to the dark haired doctor, the nurse a young, woman with long dark hair bustles around him busily. Galen tucks his feet under the bed as far as possible and tries his hardest not to get in the way, rounding his shoulders and attempting to go unnoticed.

“Alright, let's take a look at you.”

The young woman reaches out, but doesn't make contact after Galen can't quite suppress a flinch, it's tiny but she notices and withdraws her hand immediately.

Galen stares straight ahead, wide eyed, terrified that he's offended this latest medical professional, images of his past encounters with Medics filters through his mind and he suppresses another shudder.

“ It's ok, honey.” Her voice softens and slows, despite himself Galen can feel himself relaxing, and hates himself for behaving like a child, soothed by a soft voice and kind words despite all the previous experiences that tell him to be wary. “Nothing bad is going to happen.” Galen nods but hangs his head to stare at his knees, tightening his hands on the front of his new trousers, holding on for dear life.

“First I'm just going to weigh you, then listen to your chest, I'd like to have another look at that blaster injury you came in with too? Then some bloods, just to see what's going on. Is that alright?” She points at various pieces of medical equipment as she speaks, Galen takes care to glance at them from under his fringe but doesn't comment, she's not looking for his opinion.

True to form she doesn't prompt him for his consent, instead she gestures him over to a set of scales. “If you can just take your shoes off?”

Obediently he slips them off and stands in his new socks, glancing mournfully at his shoes hoping they will still be there when this is over, he doesn't want to have to explain to Cassian how he lost them. “ Alright, now, step on and stand still while I get a reading, alright?” He obeys without protest, and she scribbles down a the reading, frowning, then looking at him more closely. Galen feels his heart sink.

“Okay, well off you pop. Put your shoes back on and come and sit down.” She walks over to a desk and picks up a stethoscope, warming the metal in the palm of her hand. “ Can you roll your shirt up a little, yes, like that, this might feel a little cold on you now.”

She places the metal disc of his chest, “breath in as deeply as you can for me,” she moves the disc across his chest, then walks behind him to place it on his back. Unconsciously Galen stiffens, “relax, and breath in again for me, as deep as you can, does that hurt? Do you ever get chest pains?”

Galen considers then shakes his head, he doesn't get chest pain, he gets rib pain sometimes when he's had a beating but that's not the same he doesn't think.

She lowers the stethoscope to his lower back and listens for a few more moments then, steps away, removing the device, dropping his shirt back over his skin. “ Well done, that wasn't too bad was it? Let's get the bloods done next, then I'll have a look at how your side is healing.” she steps away and Galen tracks her movements with anxious eyes, biting the inside of his cheek when she returns with a needle and a swab of cotton wool.

“Hmmm, this one looks likely,” she runs a finger down one of the more prominent veins on his left forearm, and holds her hand out. Trying to disguise his reluctance, he holds his arm out and she takes a hold of it, then steps aside again to get a tourniquet. She straps it round his bicep, wipes the swab over his arm. “ Sharp scratch as the needle goes in, alright. You're not afraid of needles are you?”

Galen shakes his head, but turns away rather than watch the needles slide home anyway. It takes a few moments for her to adjust until she's got the needle in position, but it's taken quickly.

“Alright, all done, hold this there.”  She places a different swab, she’d kept in the palm of her hand over the puncture wound, and encourages Galen's other hand to press down on it, while she removes the tourniquet and take the needle away.

“Hmmm, that didn't fill quite the way I was expecting are you alright for me to take your blood pressure?”

He nods, still staring at his knees and she picks up a cuff off a nearby trolley and wraps it around his arm. It hisses and presses harder against his arm, she places the stethoscope just under the cuff and listens, then makes a note of the number that appears on the screen. Her frown deepens.

“I'm just going to take a look at the injury you came with,” she nods at his side and Galen nods and murmurs nothing under his breath, hoping she takes it as agreement. “Just lift your shirt up for me, hmmm, yeah, seems less red than it did yesterday.” She runs her fingers over the wound gently but hits a tender spot and Galen twitches. “ Sore there? Yeah, it was a nasty gash you know, I'll set you up with a prescription. Just a few days to see you over the worst of it, a mild analgesic.”

She drops his shirt and tugs it down into place for him, then draws the curtains around them. Galen tenses, looking up alarmed, at the change and what it means. She smiles at him and slips around the curtain, leaving Galen sitting alone. He perches on the bed wondering whether he should still be sitting on the furniture, he's not been told to move. But then he's not been ordered to stay put, it's confusing.

The curtain slides a little, rattling as it moves on the rail, as the doctor steps in. “Hello, Mr Erso?” His voice is pitched low and friendly and he sits in the chair near the bed, it puts him lower than Galen, it should make him feel safer but it doesn't, he feels ridiculous. “ I'm going to ask you a few questions and then we might need to do a couple of more intimate examinations?” His voice rises towards the end as though it's a question.

Galen stiffens at the mention of 'intimate examinations’ assuming that this is the price he must pay for his treatment, he looks around for lubrication, knowing there is almost always some in Medical bays. He spots a pump dispenser of medical grade lubricant on the desk, and nods towards it. “ Shall I..?”

“No, that won't be necessary.” The doctor frowns, and Galen digs his fingers into his thighs until his knuckles go white, “can you answer a few questions it shouldn't take long? Good, firstly, are you now or have you been recently sexually active?”

Galen stares down at his fingers, and an old jokes comes to mind of a woman being asked that same question and replying 'no, I just lie there’. He nearly follows her example and denies it, but doesn't dare. He nods instead, not trusting his voice, his fingers blur as his eyes fill with tears.

There is pause, just a missed beat, but Galen feels it,  a waits for the slur, to be called a slut, a whore, asked if he enjoyed it. “ When were you last sexually active?”

It takes him a few tries to get the word out, “ yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Galen jumps at the doctor's sharp tone, twitching backwards and looking up confused.

“Yesterday? Here at the base?” The doctor asks, his voice strained but much quieter, his hands held up placatingly.

Galen shakes his head, and gestures over his own shoulder.

Thankfully the doctor understands, “before? Before you were… liberated? By the Rebel alliance?”

Galen nods again, huffing a breath at the turn of phrase.

“ Were you involved with one person or more?”

“More.” He means to say it but it comes out as a whisper.

“Men or women? Both?”

Galen can't prevent his head from hanging lower, tucking his chin into is chest and avoiding eye contact. To his gratitude the doctor once again seems to try to help him, “men?”

Galen nods once, not looking up, training his eyes on his lap while he waits for condemnation, braces himself for mockery.

“Women?”

He pauses, because he had once, obviously he had a child, a wife, but that was many years ago and the doctor had originally specified recently. With no small amount of trepidation, he shakes his head.

“Did you or they use protection?”

He shakes his head curling further into himself.

“ Were these sexual liaisons you initiated?”

Galen doesn't move, he doesn't know how to answer that question, he would say no, but he's been told he's been asking for it for years. And sometimes it wasn't so bad, sometimes he came, and sometimes he went with master willingly. If he went with master he'd be spared the attentions of the others. The moment stretches on, and Galen begins to worry, he can't answer the question and worries how he will be prompted.

“Ok, it's alright. This must be very hard for you. I do think it's best if I examine you, see if you need any intervention or if you will heal up without.”

Galen blinks down at his lap, bewildered and frightened, but determined to get through whatever the 'examination’ entails without weeping.

“Ok, if you drop your trousers and..”

Galen steps immediately to his feet, drops his trousers around his ankles and turns, bends over the bed pressing his chest to the mattress. The doctor's words patter to a halt behind him, and he wonders if he's got it wrong, there hadn't been any stirrups on the bed that he'd seen, not had he been asked to lie back. He must be in the right position surely.

“ This won't take long, and I'll be as gentle as possible, if it hurts tell me at once, it might feel a little uncomfortable, but if it hurts you should tell me.”

Galen feels a cold sweat break out over his skin, no one has ever warned him about pain before, they've sometimes asked him if what they are doing to him has hurt to punish him further. He's never been warned, determined not to make a fuss or give the doctor the satisfaction of knowing he's in pain, Galen clings to the edge of the mattress with one hand and bites down hard on the meaty base of his thumb on the other hand. Bracing himself for the dry drag of penetration, he startles forwards banging his hips on the bed frame and letting out a mortifying squeak of shock as a gloved, lubed finger slides into him. It twists and rubs for a few long moments, then is slid out, Galen waits, for two fingers? Or for the doctors cock to start tearing into him.

“Would you like to sit up on the bed for a moment, i just need to take a sample to test for any sexually transmitted infections.”

The doctor steps away, and Galen can hear the snap of the glove being removed and the sound of nitrile on skin of another being applied.

He stands up and turns around, sitting on the bed. He keeps his eyes fixed determinedly forwards as the doctor manipulates his genitals in gloved hands,gently, before pushing something into the tip of Galen's penis. Then the doctor let's go, steps back, while placing what looks like a large cotton wool bud into a clear tube and scribbling something illegible on it.

“That's fine, you can put your clothes back on now.”

Galen takes a moment to understand what he's been told, then slides quietly off the bed and pulls his trousers up while watching the doctor for signs that he's doing the wrong thing from underneath his fringe.

“If you'd just like to take a seat again, just a few more questions then we'll go through some of the immediate results and puts some plans in place for going forwards.” The doctor is nodding at him while he speaks and Galen tentatively nods backs despite being desperately unsure about what he's actually agreeing to. “ Does it ever hurt when you go to the toilet?”

Eyes firmly back on his hands clenched on his thighs, Galen nods feeling ashamed.

“ Does it hurt to go now?”

Galen squirms slightly, he's a grown man but this is humiliating, he feels hot and embarrassed and half shrugs one shoulder before stilling afraid that shrugging isn't allowed.

Thankfully the rebel doctor seems much more patient than the Imperial ones he's been dragged to over the years, and he doesn't insist on instant correction to Galen's shrugging. The doctor nods once then prompts further, “ does it hurt to urinate?”

For a moment he feels a little better about answering the question, but then he realises that despite it being non sexual, he will still have to admit to having been beaten if he admits to it, he will out himself as a disobedient slave. “Sometimes,” he mumbles reluctantly, “ if I've.. hurt my back.” He tries to soften the blow, be elusive about his beatings in the hopes of appearing slightly more bidding. He is afraid that the rebels will think he's a hopeless case, still untrained after fifteen years. They must have their own methods of ensuring his quick compliance, with or without the collar.

“ If you've take a blow to the kidneys?”

Galen nods again, not disputing the vaguely worded statement.

“ Is there blood in your urine?”

“Sometimes.”

“Can you lie back? I'd like to just check your stomach.”

Nervous, Galen shifts down the bed and swings his legs over it, lies flat so his feet are just off the end so they won't dirty the bed. He keeps his knees tight together not wanting to appear eager to the doctor, so far he's managed to get away with being handled very little.

The doctor steps up, “ if you could just lift up your shirt, for me.” Galen pulls the material up to his lowest ribs then lets it lie on his skin and wraps his hands around the edges of the bed again. The doctor begins to palpate his belly, the examination is brief and the doctor quickly steps away again, “ you can sit up again, Mr. Erso.”

It still takes him a moment to realise that means him again, so he's slow to start moving and tries to make up for it by getting his clothes back into place and being in position before the doctor has sat down again.

“ Thankfully you don't seem to be in any immediate danger, we will wait for the bloods to come back, it'll probably be this afternoon for the full breakdown of what's going on. For now though, I'm going to give you a stool softener, that should make things easier for you when you need to go to the toilet. You should refrain from anal intercourse until you've fully healed up, there's a certain amount of scar tissue, so I'll assume that that hasn't been happening before now?”

Mortified Galen does know how to respond, he's been reeling since he got here and he feels hopelessly out of his depth. He has no idea how he's supposed to ‘ refrain’ from being used, if his betters want him they will have him.

His thoughts must show on his face as the doctor places a hand on his arm and says, “ if anyone asks you tell them 'no’ and if anyone tries to insist tell them to see me. And you should definitely tell Cassian that they tried.” The doctor adds almost as an afterthought.

Galen files away the information that Cassian is  possessive of his things, but the hopelessness of the situation hits him hard. He's been left in an impossible position. If he tries to refuse access to his body, he will be hurt, then made to provide pleasure anyway, if he doesn't refuse he is disobeying his doctor and Cassian. He wonders if Cassian is the type of master to arrange tests, if some of the people who will try to use him, will be reporting straight back about whether he is obedient or not. Is being obedient here obeying or disobeying. The breath hitches in his chest at his frustrated confusion.

“ If you want to self pleasure, then you should avoid anal or prostate stimulation until you've been signed off.”

“ I won't… I don't, I mean I'll.. I won't touch…”

He swallows and looks away, thankfully the doctor is satisfied, “I'm going to Call Nurse Swiduff back in and we are going to put together a plan for your immediate care, as Captain Andor is your..erm.. handler? He brought you in didn't he?” Galen nods to confirm that he belongs to Master now. “So he'll be the one you report to until you get back to General Draven and can be fully debriefed. I will have to share some orders with Andor, some parts of your care he will need to know, like how often you should be eating. I take it you'd rather he not know about the full extent of your injuries? Beyond that I shall tell him to make sure you aren't given any hassle.” with that the doctor pulls back the curtain and heads over to the big desk in the corner, gathering up a few papers from it.

Cassian and the nurse come heading straight over, the nurse hangs back but Cassian comes straight up and crouches at his feet looking up. “ Are you alright?”

Galen looks around at the med bay and thinks about the gentle treatment he's been shown, “ I'm not supposed to have anal sex until I've healed. No, been signed off, I don't know when that will be.” He blurts baldly, thinking that is he's gets a beating for the inconvenience then at least he's in the right place and that Cassian will learn this soon enough, of Cassian ignores it, well he was always going to, and at least he's shown the doctor he's obeying.

“Oh, ok.” Cassian looks bewildered and a little sick at the news, Galen cocks his head slightly to one side wondering if that's his disappointment showing or if he's angry he got a useless whore.

The doctor joins them and pulls up the chair, while Nurse Swiduff brings two stools and she and Cassian perch on them, as they all sit in a weird little semi circle. With no clear route between him and the door Galen feels his heart rate kick up.

“ Well, you're very underweight, “ Swiduff begins, “ the preliminary bloods suggest that you are anemic, your cholesterol is low though, your blood pressure is very low, do you ever feel faint?”

“No?” Galen lies a little, he does, often after climbing off the floor after a gang rape but he'd rather be punished that admit to that in front of these strangers.

“Cassian said you were having trouble keeping food down? What are you used to eating?”

“ If I've been acceptable, I got my rations in the evening.”

“What did your 'rations’ consist of?”

“What was left.” Galen admits glad they aren't probing into how often he was well behaved enough to receive them, “ sometimes bread, or soup, or porridge. Sometimes I'd get Masters left overs, if I'd been very good.” He has a moment's homesickness for master, remembers kneeling at his side being given the rare treats of hot food, at the memories his belly growls. Loud in the quiet of the room.

“Hungry now then? That's good, we'll need to get you into a more regular pattern than that, once a day isn't going to be often enough to put the weight back on you. It'll be little and often for now. We will try very bland foods or some meal replacements for invalids to get you started. It's probably the stress of upheaval that's causing the nausea, more than anything. Eat slowly and stop when you feel full, you can have more after an hour or so, alright? Slow and steady.”

Nurse Swiduff turns slightly so she's talking to Cassian and Galen, “ lots of rest, alright. You need your test to recovery properly, i'll send your painkillers and the rest of your meds to your room when they need to be taken, don't skip a dose, take them as soon as you get them. Some gentle exercise if you want it, but nothing too taxing or vigorous.”

Cassian nods and Galen feels a moment of relief that it's not just him reduced to signing around the medics.

“We will give you a ring when your results come through and you can come down for another chat. If you need any more medication we can see to it then, if you need anything though just come back. Anytime, someone will be here.” She looks between the three men, pauses then prompts, “ is there anything you need to ask?”

Galen shakes his head, while at his side Cassian murmurs a negative.

“Well, off you go then, don't forget to rest. It would probably be best to go and make up one of the replacement shakes now, start getting some nutrition.”

Cassian nods and gestures to Galen, who slides carefully off the bed and steps up to him, he's waiting to be told what to do next, but his heart skips a beat when Cassian moves off, leaving him with the medical personnel.

“Galen? Do you want to talk to Kas in private?”

For a moment the use of his name and the mention of 'kas’ throw him and it takes him a moment to assign the names to the corresponding individuals. “No,” he says at once, feeling the sweat prickle under his arms and bead across his forehead, “no, thank you.’

“Ok, well then let's go and get some lunch, it's a bit early but I've not had breakfast yet and Bodhi is always read for a meal. Thanks Kas, Swiduff.”

“Thank you.” Galen echoes abruptly, the basics of human interaction flooding back in a rush that leaves him feeling aware of how badly he's come across and the old feeling of shame resurfaces. Both medics smile at him and he follows Cassian out of the room.

Cassian walks slowly, much slower than he has before and it is much easier for him to keep up.

They make their slow way through the base back into the canteen, Cassian is quiet at his side which helps, it gives him some time to gather his thoughts. The k2 unit appears when they make it to the canteen and Cassian sends it to get Bodhi, Chirrut and Baze. Galen makes a note of the names and is determined to learn exactly which name belongs to which man, data is valuable and can help him remain useful and give him a measure of control.

Cassian guides him into a chair at a table in the corner of the room. It wobbles as one of it's legs seems to be slightly shorter than the others, when he first puts his hands down it shifts and he panics, then feels foolish when he realises how small the movement is. Thankfully no one is around to notice apart from Cassian who is focused on reading the instructions on the back of the nutrient powder he'd been given by the doctor. Galen sits on the edge of his chair feeling out of place on the furniture, all the times he'd been made to kneel at the feet of the Imperials he's dreamed of sitting on the chairs now he is allowed to he feels uneasy, afraid of being found to be a fraud, or losing this privilege.

Bodhi arrives first, much to his relief, and settles into the chair on Galens other side. “How did the Doctors go? Are you alright?”

“My cholesterol is very good.” He says after a long pause, he can vaguely remember his mother telling him if you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all when he'd been a small boy.

“And you've been given some special food too.” Cassian chimes in holding up one of packets of powder, “just gotta add water, I'll go and do that now.” He climbs out of his chair, the legs scraping over the floor and heads off across the room. Galen watches him go feeling miserable, he would have liked to have seen his food being made, just so he would have known what was in it, he'd still have had to drink it but he might have had an opportunity to brace himself if he could watch.

Two other men come clattering in, the bigger of the two sits across the table, while the slim one slides into the empty seat next to Bodhi. “Ahhh, good to see you again, you're looking better than you were!” the larger of the men says smiling widely, Galen slides his eyes just to the left of his face and tries to look attentive.

“Thank you, Master.”

“It's Baze, Galen, I'm Baze, that's Chirrut, you know Bodhi don't you? We call the android Kay. Do you like Galen? Or is there a nickname you would prefer?”

Stumped Galen stares at him, trying his best to work out if he's supposed to admit that his name has been slut or whore or cumbucket or any variation on that theme for years and years now. Before he is made to answer Cassian places a tall glass of yellow liquid in front of him, it's gone a bit lumpy and there are small clumps of powder that haven't mixed at all floating on the surface.

Baze eyes it, then rolls his eyes at Cassian, “how did you manage to mess up rehydrating a powder?”

“It's fine, I stirred for ages!”

Baze rolls his eyes even harder and gestures for the glass, he wanders off with it and reappears with a spoon. Retaking his seat, everybody sits in silence watching Baze stir the contents as though it's the most interesting thing they've ever seen, listening to the clink, clink of metal hitting glass.

Baze slides the glass over and a very small amount sops over the side, Galen pulls his hands back, a can't prevent himself from inhaling sharply expecting to be shocked for the spill, it takes him a moment to recall that he doesn't have his collar.

“It's alright, my fault.” Baze says slowly, both hands held upright his palms outward, Galen flinches slightly and Baze lowers them again. “Sorry.”

The apology makes Galen flinch again, no one ever apologises to him, it's disorientating to have it done now.

Baze puts both hands flat onto the table and keeps them there, Galen looks at the drink, it's still undulating slightly in the glass, the energy that's been imparted to the molecules has not quite been thoroughly dispersed.

“Drink up.” Cassian tells him nodding cheerfully at the glass, “please!”

Galen stops at the blurted syllables.

“Please,” Cassian reiterates calmly, “ you don't have to finish it if you feel full, or if you don't like it.”

Galen blinks surprised that he might not like it, it's food. He has very hazy memories of not liking certain foods, back as a free man, but now he eats anything regardless of taste, quality or even really nutritional value. He'd once eaten paper when he'd been really hungry one winter after not meeting his deadlines for rations. He takes a sip, the overly synthetic taste of bananas hits his palette, after years of plain food it's a shock but he drinks it anyway.

“Slowly, slowly,” Bodhi chimes in, “take your time, there's no rush.”

Galen nods, and sips at his food, he wishes that they weren't all sitting watching him.

“Come on, let's get our own food.”

“But-” Chirrut snakes at Baze's broad shoulder and the big man looks surprised but allows himself to be dragged away, Bodhi follows dawdling, still staring at Galen, Galen keeps his head down and does his best to avoid eye contact.


	15. Chapter 15

Halfway through his shake, he feels the last of the adrenaline from his terror, at being taken to the medbay, and everything else that has happened to him over the last few days, draining away. At once exhaustion swells up within him, thick and cloying dragging at him. His body trembles with the effort of remaining upright and instead of finishing his food he finds himself blinking at it stupidly, after every blink it takes a monumental amount of effort to prise his eyes open again.

He has to fight with himself to not drop off; each time he's nearly asleep, his head will nod onto his chest, or onto the table in front of him, or in one heart-stopping incident, almost onto the shoulder of Chirrut next to him. He manages to jerk himself upright and awake before he thinks he's noticed.

At least the other man remains still and silent. But he smiles so heartbreakingly gently at Galen that he feels ashamed to have somehow manipulated the man into bestowing it on him.

“Sleepy?” Galen twitches away, a fresh burst of adrenaline forcing him into higher awareness. Bodhi smiles, and holds both his hands up, placatingly, “it's alright. You look as though you could do with more rest. They worked you like a sla- well, uh. Yeah. You were overworked, it's not surprising that you're tired. Come on.”

Bodhi stretches out a hand, and he looks at it warily, Bodhi lets it hang there for a few moments then slowly,  gently  gestures for Galen to come with him. Galen pulls himself to his feet, his body moves on autopilot after so many years or obedience benign drilled into it, and follow Bodhi out of the canteen.

He is startled awake when a door hisses open, and realises that he'd been walking along asleep again. Bodhi steps through the open door and tensely he follows. Into a relaxed communal living space, there is a low bench covered with worn cushions and threadbare blankets. He feels his shoulders slump with relief at the obvious lack of beds, it doesn't mean anything really, he's been used in dozens of ways, in dozens of locations over the years but it does always make him feel a little safer if he's not in someone else's bedroom. He feels a little safer with Bodhi too, who has never shown any interest in his body beyond a bizarre concern over his lack of body fat and any injuries he sustains.

“Come on, let's sit down alright?” At the prompt Galen settles into the nearest couch and Bodhi drops onto it alongside him. “Make yourself comfy,” he says and pats the cushions between them. Galen feels his brow furrowed and looks at the cushions to Bodhi, struggling to interpret the order.

Biting his lip into his mouth he admits, “I don't understand?”

“Sit however makes you feel comfortable,” Bodhi tells him, his voice is soft and gentle, but his shoulders are tense. Bodhi settles back into the couch and tips his head back so it lies across the back of the couch, his hair just brushing the walls. Galen looks from his splayed legs to his relaxed posture and understands. He doesn't need any further prompting to repay his betters for their overwhelming kindness to him. He's been treated in a manner beyond his comprehension, from his collars removal to his own room, for once he actually feels the gratitude he is supposed to be displaying for his Master's. He slides of the couch and kneels between Bodhi's spread feet.

“Woah!”

The shout from behind him, startles him and he jerks, his body brushes against Bodhi's knee, and Bodhi’s hands come up and grab him by the shoulders. Galen kneels absolutely still, waiting.

“What's going on?” Galen hears Cassian’s anger, even in such a short sentence and he begins to shiver.

“Don't yell, Cassian.” Baze says, stepping around so that he is in Galen's peripheral vision. “Are you two alright? What happened?”

“I said to make yourself comfy. Is this comfortable for you? Or did you think this is what I wanted?”

“I..m’sorry, Ma-sir.”

“That's alright you didn't do anything wrong. This is just a misunderstanding, right?” Bodhi nods as he says the words, and Galen nods along with him, eager to please “i wouldn't let you do that back on Eadu and I don't want it from you here either.”

Despite it being words he's longed to hear for years and years, it sends a sharp stab of panic through him to have them said to him. Trading his body or his mind for physical safety has been all he's known for more than a decade and without the bargaining chips he feel lost.

“Alright, ok, come on. Breathe, breathe for me. Galen?”

“How do I..” he pauses trying to put his terror and inadequacy into words, “thank you?” He asks his voice hitching and miserable.

“You don't have to,” Bodhi tells him, he feels his body trembling again. His breathing speeds up as he panics, uncertain why he feels so upset but feeling it running through his veins with every panicked thump of his heart.

“We want you to do what you need to to feel safe and to help yourself calm down.” The voice near his ear is very firm, and he reacts on instinct to the tone rather than the words. Folding himself into a present position, he shuffles until he can press his forehead into the ground at his Master's feet.

“Does this make you feel safer?” A different voice asks, confusion and sadness lacing through the tone of it colouring the words. Bewildered he nods, refusing to lift his face from the carpet.

“Ok then, if that's what is best for you then you do it.”

“Cassian!”

“If it helps him, let him do it. What do you want me to do?”

A long silence falls and Galen shuts his eyes, his face pressed to the carpeting, safe in the knowledge that any tears that may or may not slip free will be absorbed into the fibers before they can irritate his Masters.

“Ok, that's good. You're being very good.”

“He's not a dog!”

“I know. But if it helps to calm everything down, then let's just-"

“Not talk about Galen as though he can't hear us?”

Galen twitches at the mention of his name, feels a wave of almost hysterical amusement at the dryness of Baze's tone. Another long silence descends upon the room, and then he hears the sound of another body dropping into a chair. Tilting his head a little, he can see Baze and Chirrut have dropped into another of the sagging couches. Baze props his feet up and leans back, while Chirrut slumps sideways a little until he is just touching Baze, their bodies connected from hip to shoulder.

He hears Cassian drop down into one of the chairs a few feet away and the knowledge that all the rooms occupants are occupied and relaxed helps to calm him further.

Bodhi begins to read aloud from a tablet, at first he struggles to concentrate assuming that this must be important relevant information, but he has no prior knowledge of deep sea fishing and has never even heard of the planets that Bodhi is speaking of. The steady drone of numbers and percentages lulls him with their familiarity and the soft burr of Bodhi’s voice is strangely soothing. He hangs on the cusp of sleep, trying to identify the emotion he feels, nervous of the consequences of sleeping in front of these virtual strangers but unable to help himself.

A weight drops down near him, jolting his body, and he raises his head from where is had been pillowed. A hand cards through his hair gently and two voices apologize to him. The voices are vaguely familiar and they cut through his instinctive panic.

He rolls a little and opens his eyes, Baze is sat near his feet where he has been lifted onto the bench, his head is pillowed on Bodhi's thigh, the men are talking quietly over him. Cassian is a few feet away cleaning weaponry with the Kaytoo.

A young woman is standing in the doorway, she looks tired and sad, but none of the men seem to think she is a threat so Galen doesn't attempt to find the energy to do any differently. She simply regards the whole to for a long moment then she turns and walks away.

Galen lets his head drop back onto Bodhi's thigh, and closes his eyes again. Despite being surrounded by bodies he doesn't have the energy to feel alarmed, he's the warmest he's felt in years, fully dressed with a blanket over him. Bodhi's thigh is warm and solid, yet somehow the softest pillow he can imagine. Baze’s hand is resting on the bench just touching his blanket covered foot, the touch is grounding, not alarming as no one in his memory had ever touched his feet, either to hurt him or for their pleasure.

The chatter of the gathered men, washes over him, providing a soothing white noise, he lets himself be pulled back under the cover of sleep.

He's woken later, a gentle hand shakes his knee, and he almost panics before he hears Kaytoo saying, “I don't think you should wake him so roughly, I have a bad feeling about this.”

Determined to prove himself obedient, he rolls over and sits up, rubbing at his itchy, tired eyes and trying to wake up quickly. Despite having done very little all day his body aches with exhaustion, his mind feels cloudy with fatigue.

Cassian smiles down at him, Galen takes a moment to wonder at how everyone here smiles at him all the time before he smiles tentatively back.

“That went better than anticipated,” the robot states into the silence and Cassian half turns to mock glare at it over his shoulder.

“I'm not completely useless you know.” The machine makes a disbelieving noise and unthinkingly Galen lets out a soft huff of laughter.

Immediately he stills, terror racing through his veins. He waits for harsh correction, braces his body for the blow. To his total and complete astonishment, nothing happens except that Cassian huffs a breath out too.

“Come on,” he says extending his hand out to Galen. Who twitches back, alarmed at his own rudeness at laughing at his superiors, terror swooping hot and quick through him at the mere thought of the punishment that is going to be meted out to him.

Cassian doesn't hit him or retract his hand. He leaves it hanging, palms open, his fingers half-curled, relaxed. Galen stares at it for a moment. If he was to be slapped the fingers would be straight so that there would be maximum coverage, and if he was to be punched then the fingers would be curled into a fist.

Miserably he looks from the hand to it's owner, wondering how he will be punished here, in his mind he recalls the doctor's words that he is to avoid being used. Fear grips at him, he wonders if they will punish him for disobeying that order to if the first punishment means breaking the doctors rules. Shivering, he reaches out but his courage fails him and he let's it hang, just before it touches Cassian. Not quite able to bring himself to be the one to make contact. Cassian has no such compunctions and he beams at Galen as though he's done something wonderful, his lips quirk up showing his teeth and gums, and his eyes crinkle into slits, he looks almost goofy in his happiness. He has dimples Galen thinks absently, gazing at Cassian feeling unfamiliar emotions. Before he can start to dissect his feelings, Cassian takes his hand and pulls him to his feet.

“Come on, let's get you some food, Nurse Swiduf will have my head if you're not eating every few hours. And she's fierce, you know. You can be brave enough to face down all kinds of scary things but everyone quails before Reesemme Swiduf.”

“I don't,” Kaytoo interjects “my casing is designed to withstand higher forces than those likely to be inflicted by a small human woman.”

“You're still afraid of her.”

“It's a healthy respect.”

“Only living thing you show that for!”

Galen listens their bickering as they walk down the corridors, feeling light-headed with relief, somehow his slip up has gone unnoticed, for the time being.

He worries that maybe it's all being saved up to be dropped on him at a later date, but he dismisses the thought with a grimace. It's unheard of for anyone to have the patience to play that kind of long game, but now it's being utilised he can see why, waiting for his punishment is nearly as bad as getting it. Still, he reasons that if this is a long game, then everything will turn back to normal soon, he'll be screaming and bleeding soon enough, so he should enjoy what he's being given now without ruining it by fretting.

Cassian's hand is still holding his, their fingers are laced to together and as Cassian leads them through the base he sneaks little glances down at their intertwined digits, trying not to enjoy the gentle touch, not wanting to miss it when it's gone.

The dining hall is busy with lots of people milling about, Kaytoo leads the way through the throng to a table near the windows. The rest of the little group that he has come to recognize are there already Baze and Chirrut man are having an undertone disagreement, but their feet at touching under the table, their knees pressed against each others.

Bodhi shoves a chair on either side of him outwards to make room for them, and Cassian steers him into one while Kaytoo departs.

“Bring the replacements,” Cassian calls after the droids retreating back.

Galen stiffens wondering what replacements are and if it has anything to do with him, Cassian brushes a thumb over the back of his hand absently before letting go. Galen misses the strong fingers on his.

Baze, Chirrut and Bodhi at once begins to try to draw him into a conversation, asking him gentle questions about what food he likes and what he doesn't like. Cassian hovers not quite sitting on his chair watching Kaytoo’s progress, occasionally interjecting or querying something himself.

Slightly overwhelmed by the attention and unsure as to why anyone would need this information, Galen attempts to work out if answering is dangerous, but become flummoxed quickly. He doesn't have likes and dislikes when it comes to food, he just likes to be given some, he'll eat whatever he's given.

“I'll eat anything.” He mumbles looking down at the table.

“But there must be things that you like more than others?” Bodhi insists, and Galen feels a wave of despair at trying to answer all the questions, struggling to know the correct answers or at least safe ones.

Kaytoo returns with a couple of plates and a mug. He sets the plates down and gives the mug to Galen, who recognises the shake from earlier with relief and he automatically turns to Bodhi and Cassian for confirmation. They both nod almost simultaneously, Cassian presses Galen's fingers around the ceramic, gently.

“Drink up.’

“It might not taste great,” Bodhi warns. “You don't have to have it, there are other flavours if you don't like it.”

“We'll get you started on something nicer in a day or two, when you're more settled,” Chirrut adds. “Once you get signed off.”

Galen tenses wondering if that means, once he can perform for them, but takes a sip from the mug. No one protests so he relaxes a little and takes another. It's not bad, synthetic and bland, the taste is clearly supposed to be banana, but whoever passed it through quality control had obviously never eaten a banana in their life. The texture gritty and the shake is cold.

The others dig into their food, little sounds of chewing and clink of cutlery on crockery is the only sounds for a little while. Galen begins to relax a little, grateful that the questions are finished. As if to spite him, Cassian gently questions, “so what is your favourite food?”

He appreciates the gentleness but can't help but grow more and more anxious and frustrated by his inability to form an answer which Mas-Cassian will accept.

“I..sir? I don’t know.” He swallows and the sound is loud in the sudden quiet, his breathing hitches around his fear and misery at his inability to understand their questioning.

“Feeding can be thought of as synonymous to refueling,” Kaytoo tells Cassian, abruptly as the silence stretches while Galen struggles to regulate his breathing.

Cassian falls silent, his head swivels between Galen and the robot for a long moment, then he scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“Sorry Galen. I guess for you it's just been a case of whatever food you could get your hands on, right?”

“I wouldn't steal.” He gasps almost dropping his mug on his hurry to persuade Cassian. “I.. I'm not going to..”

“It's alright.” Cassian soothes. “It's alright.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

He wakes up, utterly disorientated, his body is cocooned in warmth, and he's wearing clothes. Struggling to sit up, he jostled the bed and drags a sleepy noise out of the man lying beside him.

Jerking away he almost falls of the bed and is prevented by a hand clasping around his bicep.

“Whoops, easy there. You ok?”

“Yes, Master.” He gasps out, instinct kicking in and his training takes over despite his racing heart. The man beside him sits up properly, the mattress tilts and creaks under his weight.

“It's Cassian, remember? Do you remember where you are? You're with us now, a member of the rebel alliance.” Mas-Cassian doesn't remove his hand, his thumb begins to gently stroke over the bone of his wrist, the grip is loose and he could break away.

“Yes, Cassian.” He murmurs, his muscles begin to unclench, his heart rate subsides a little, “I remember.” What he doesn't remember is how or why Cassian has come to be in his bed, or at least why Cassian allowed him to remain in a bed without making him pay for it.

Cassian is still sitting peaceably next to him, his chest is bare, but he is wearing pants, Galen can just the see waist band around his hips where the blankets have pooled in his lap. Galen let's his eyes drop a little further and notes that  _ yes _ , Cassian is hard.

“Should I.. do you want?” He pauses and gulps, the memory of the med bay resurfaces and he changes his mind at the last possible second to keep within the rules he's been given. “My mouth? Should? I.. I could, can-”

“No, no thank you.” Cassian cuts of his stammering which is a relief as he knows he had been sounding like a fool but sets him trembling again. He hates having to service his Master's, now he's had even a few days respite he can feel his disinclination to return to the old routines, but the distaste wars with fear in his chest. Without servicing Master how is he to earn his keep? 

“Do you need me to build weapons?” He asks looking down at the bedding. Tracing the printed design the meanders across the material with one fingertip.

“No,” Cassian says, his voice gentle and he tugs gently at Galen's wrist to get him to look up. 

Galen glances up through his fringe, wary of making eye contact.

“Galen?” Cassian asks when they are more or less looking each other in the eye. “ Are you alright?”

“Yes?” He whispers, then too afraid to lie, blurts, “no, Master. Cassian, sorry, sorry.”

“S’alright. You had to call people that for a long time didn't you? Does it make you feel safe?”

_ Safe. _ He considers the concept, trying to match feelings and his own emotions to the ideals behind the word.

Not knowing how to answer the question he goes back to fiddling with the bedspread, bowing his head and trying to look meek. He suspects he's quite good at it he's had years of practice.

“We don't need you to build weapons for us, we might need you to answer some questions but you can always say no. It's up to you. You're not our slave, Galen.”

Shuddering, he clenches the blankets between his fingers. Unbidden a tear slips down his face and he ducks his head further trying to hide it.

“What's wrong?”

“I-” he struggles to articulate his fears, wanting to put into words how he wants to prove himself useful to them. If he's useful maybe, oh please, maybe he will be kept here. He's not been here long but it is still orders of magnitude better than he was ever treated back on Eadu. Even the worst of it here, that first night abandoned in a cell, was far nicer than being allowed to sleep in Master's quarters and they didn't even extract payment from his body for it.

Hair body trembles harder at the thought of having to return to Eadu, he knows that the rebels are aware of his role as a sex slave, he can't imagine what other use they have in-store for him.

He leans over into Cassian's warmth, feeling the heat of the other man's body and kisses him. 

Cassian kisses back, mouth opening, one hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the base of Galen's head, and for a long moment there is nothing but the press of lips on lips.

“What, no wait.” Cassian pushes at his shoulders, gently maneuvers until Galen is sat back on his side of the bed.

“Sorry.” 

“Why? Why did you kiss me? You don't want..? What's going on? Can you explain it to me?

“I just-” he swallows. “I just, I wanted you to keep me, I don't want to go back. So I wanted to please you.”

“And you though that would be through, well, uh, through sex?”

Galen squirms, feeling the heat spread up his chest and neck, until he's sure his whole body is flushed with the force of his humiliation. “Ive not got anything else.” He whispers.

“It's not like that, it's not.” Cassian sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “you've done a lot for the alliance, you set up their weapon to? What self destruct?”

“No, it can be destroyed. It was designed to be indestructible but there is a way.”

“A way that you put there?”

“Yes.”

“And it took you years? And if they had found out they would have- well they would have been pretty angry, I suppose.”

Galen gulps, the mere thought has the hairs on his arms rising, his flesh goose pimpling in his fear. “They would have been very angry,” he confirms quietly.

“So, the way I see it, is you've done your part for the alliance and the least we can do now is look after you.”

He doesn't really understand because it's not. The least they could do is nothing. The idea of that sends a shiver down his spine, he imagines himself lost on an alien world trying to find food and shelter. Having to resort to selling what few skills he has to survive. He half reaches for Cassian again wanting to offer using body, anything to prevent such a fate. Better just Master, or master and his friends if he must, rather than anyone with money. Or worse anyone who can take it from him.

“Ok, so none of that. Kas said to not do that anyway didn't he, not until your better. And even then it should be because you want to, not because you're trying to please me. Or anyone else for that matter. If anyone tries anything with you, tell me ok?”

“Yes, sir. How am I to be punished?”

“What?” 

At the sharp tone Galen jumps, Cassian grabs his wrist again, and his thumb starts up the same gentle caress across the wrist bones.

Assuming that Cassian wishes him to confess his wrongdoings, he decides to list them, best to be honest, if they think he's missing some out his punishment will be worse. “I tried to kiss you even after Kas told me I wasn't to, and I slept under the bed without asking and-”

“Woah.” Cassian holds up a hand to stem the flow of words, “firstly you can sleep wherever you like, well in your room or the common areas, ask before you climb into someone else's bed. Secondly, I think you're a bit confused about what's happening here, is that right? We haven't been clear with you. It's hard we haven't ever had someone who has been treated like this so I don't know how to help you. I don't want to order you around, you're free, but at the same time I don't want you to feel abandoned. Let's take this slowly, no kissing, me or anyone else. At least until you're settled. Let's get up and dressed, then let's have a chat about expectations, yours and ours, alright. Then you know what's happening and we can try to help you better? Sound good?”

“Yes,” he mutters taken aback. He hadn't expected to be coddled to such an extent. On Eadu getting anything wrong, no matter how minor, had resulted in, at best, his collar being activated till he screamed and begged for forgiveness. Here his new Masters are offering to gently explain the rules to him. He nearly smiles, poor gentle Master. He nearly feels guilty at taking advantage of the man's lack of experience.

“Good. OK, can you get showered and dressed? There are clean clothes in the drawer there, second from the top. Pick anything to wear, then come down to the canteen. Can you remember the way? Good. Alright I'll be along in a few minutes. If you're there first grab the usual table ok?”

He nods and Cassian smiles and squeezes gently at his wrist, then he slips out of bed and heads out of the door, letting it hiss closed behind him.

He sits still for a few seconds, just absorbing how the morning and panned out so far, then stretches a hand out and runs it across the maîtress where Cassian had been. Feeling the warmth left there from the other man's body, reassuring himself that he had been there. That such a gentle conversation really had happened. And had happened to  _ him. _

He showers slowly, luxuriating in the warm water, beyond grateful to be allowed to wash himself. Memories of the times he was hosed down on Eadu, after he lost the privilege of showering indoors due to some unspecified reasons, lick at the edges of his mind and he struggles to keep them at bay.

_ He stands shivering under the spray; he's been ordered to stand still but he can't force his body to stop quaking.  _

_ The hose gets turned away from him for a second and it's easier to breathe away from the icy cold. Then the water returns, bruising him under the force, he tries to protect his genitals with his hands but earns himself a nasty jolt from the collar. _

_ “Stand still, slut, or do you need a reminder on how to behave.” _

_ He forces himself back to immobility, his bodies trembling out of his control, but catching his every flinch and forcing his muscles back to impassiveness. _

_ The water shuts off and he stands in the cold, his extremities blue due to the frigid air in the courtyard. He wants to lie down and let the cold leach the pain from him, just to be allowed to lie down and be still forever. He can no longer imagine a life without pain, he just wants to be allowed to stop, he's so tired. So tired of everything. _

_ Instead he's hustled along, his feet are so numb it's like walking on stumps, he can't feel anything below his knees. The guard passes him over to a different man, someone from the finance department he thinks, who looks Galen up and down then scowls. _

_ Suddenly, he slaps Galen hard, and Galen staggers on his feet, struggling to maintain his balance, caught off guard at the suddenness of the blow. _

_ “Tracking water everywhere, no wonder you're only use is being kept on as a whore.”  _

_ Galen blinks hard, as a rush of shame threatens to send him curling into a ball on the floor, the word reverberating around his skull. _

_ Whore. _

_ Whore. _

Galen blinks, disorientated. He's curled under the unit in the fresher, dripping water everywhere, shaking so hard his teeth are knocking together and his knees are knocking bruises into each other. 

His heart is pounding, and vomit crawls up his throat. It takes a huge amount of effort to swallow it back. He presses his face into his knees and remains in his hunched huddle until his shaking has lessened a little, then remembering his orders he struggles to his feet and finds a towel to dry himself off carefully. 

He mustn't leave dirty marks. He needs to behave perfectly.

Dry, he staggers into the bedroom and opens the drawer, there are folded shirts and pants along with underwear and socks. All brand new, still in their packages.

He wavers for a moment, then reaches out and examines a few, searching for the baggiest, least flattering clothes he can find.

The shame of what he's done, been made to do over the years, lingers, staining his skin. He pulls on the clothing, covering his skin, in the back of his mind he can't help but wonder whether he's ruining the clothing, staining it irrevocably by letting it touch his tainted flesh. Still, the orders he's been given, no matter how gently, drive him onwards.

It takes him a few minutes to gather his bearings enough to find his way to the canteen, once he does the noise of the gathered people washes over him, over stimulation washes over him and the discomfort of so many strangers causes his hands to quiver.

He's the last to make it to the table, the others are already gathered, plates of food resting on the surface. He drops down onto his knees beside the nearest chair, automatically, his mind struggling over the overload of noise and stimulation.

“Galen?”Bodhi's hands stretch out towards him, and he stills obediently into the approaching hands, trying not to tremble too obviously.Still dazed and confused he kneels, shivering from the remembered cold. 

“Are you alright?” There is concern in Bodhi’s voice, and it brings Galen a little closer to reality. It's concern for him, he realises with distant wonder.

“I forgot where I was,” he answers faintly.

“You're shaking.” Bodhi frowns, it's an expression of anxiety on his face, not one of displeasure or anger, and strokes a hand down Galen’s back, the touch soft.

Galen braces himself for correction anyway, it amazes him just how much of a leeway they are prepared to give him, how much he's already been shown, but he feels a well of fear and shame. 

For years he'd suffered alone and he'd had to shrug off every beating, every rape, every incidence of being denied food or warmth or comfort for fear of worse treatment, yet it's only now that he's got some freedom that his mind revolves uselessly on the torments that have been inflicted upon him.

He knows that no one's patience lasts forever,he wonders how long he's got before the patience that he's been shown here will run out. He doesn't want to test the patience of Cassian, Bodhi and the others. He wants to be able to stay with them, safe and comforted.

When his shaking lessens, Bodhi sits next to him on the tiled floor, keeping a few feet away, still allowing Galen his space.

“What upset you?” His voice is steady, he doesn't sound pitying or irritated, despite having been called in to deal with a grown man who can't shower alone without making a fuss. Galen swallows back his rage at himself and focuses on answering the question.

“I was showering..It's different from Eadu,” as soon as he says it out loud it dawns on him just how pathetic he sounds and he hangs his head not wanting to see the expression on Bodhi’s face. 

“And that upset you? Because it was different? Did you prefer it on Eadu?”

“No.” 

Galen wants to explain further, but he can't find the words he knows he's making a fuss over the littlest things. “I'm sorry,” he tells Bodhi instead, “I didn't want to disturb you, I'm.. I'll do better..”

“You don't have to,” Bodhi tells him, “you're doing fine. It's normal to be upset. Everything has changed for you very quickly and we never even asked you if you wanted to come with us. We just took you from your home even though you'd asked me not to-”

Galen panics. His vision tunnels, and he can't breathe enough to talk, he wants to ask to be put down rather than, sent back into the Empire's hands.

Beside him Bodhi, curses savagely, and Cassian's voice from across the table asks something. The next thing he is really aware of is sitting on the edge of a chair, a hand is pressing his head down so it's between his knees and another is rubbing at his back. He takes a long breath it, then let's it out in a sigh.

“Better?”

“When?” He asks, not able to answer that, feeling his heart fracturing at the thought of being sent away, back to the collar. He remembers his nightmare from the shower and a sob slips free at the realisation that soon he truly will be back to being a whore.

Cassian crouches down in front of him, ducking his head to try and make eye contact. Bodhi’s hand doesn't leave his back. 

“When what?” Cassian asks slowly, drawing out each letter, his face is a mask of confusion. Eyebrows almost touching with the force of his frown.

“When are you going...” his voice catches, but he clears his throat roughly forcing the words out, strangled, from a tight throat “to get...rid of me?”

Dead silence greets his question, then both men start talking at once. The noise washes over him incomprehensible, and he fights to keep his composure.

“You're not going anywhere unless you want to,” Cassian says. He sounds definite, determined, and Galen wants so badly to believe him. 

“That was my fault, I didn't mean for you to think that, Galen. I was trying to tell you you've come a long way in a short space of time and that you're not bothering us when you get upset.”

“You're not bothering us at all.” Cassian states firmly, his brows smoothing out but his lips are a firm, bloodless line, he looks stricken.

Galen glances at Bodhi, whose brown eyes are wide and his face looks regretful, no one in the past fifteen years had even looked upset over upsetting him before he'd come here. In fact he'd been beaten for crying on several occasions and more than once had the collar activated for not being stoic enough while enduring the rapes that had made up a significant portion of his captivity.

It's enough to calm him a little but not enough to dispel the lingering doubts he has, but the sight of the unhappy lines around Cassian's mouth and the tight set of Bodhi's shoulders gives him courage.

“But there are limits.” he insists, trying to work out the jumbled mess of his thoughts.

“Yes, yes you do.” Cassian interrupts as Bodhi takes his hand of his back and steps away.

“No, no” Galen tells them, while inwardly reeling at the possibility. “No, you have limits, you're young and you're babysitting an old man, you've got your limits-”

“No, it's not… it's .. I - We care about you, we want t..”

“Care,” Galen repeats the word like he's never heard it before and cannot fathom it's meaning. Regarding himself he barely can conjure up a definition that makes sense.

“Yes,” Cassian affirms, “care we care about you, I know that it's too soon for you to take this on faith, but can you give us a chance to prove it.”

_ Care _ Galen thinks to himself as he nods, allowing the notion of himself being something worthy of care to sink into his mind, it feels unbelievable.

Cassian smiles at him, before both he and Bodhi squeeze his shoulder and leave slowly, to allow him to dress and get into bed.

Later when he's woken everyone up, screaming again, and Cassian has stumbled blearily into his room, to turn the lights on, allowing Galen to see where he is, or more importantly where he's not. Cassian rolls into bed beside him, the mattress dipping under his heavier weight and drops his head beside Galen’s on the pillow.

“Do you remember? Before? Being free? Before the Empire?” he whispers suddenly into the dimness.

It's easier to be honest in the stillness of the small hours. “Yes,” Galen breathes the admission into the half light “I just no longer know how to understand those memories.”


	17. Chapter 17

Galen follows the men out of the shuttle slowly, trying not to let his reluctance show either on his face or on his movements.

 

Cassian squeezes his shoulder as he passed by with Kaytoo and Baze in tow, and Galen feels grateful for the support, but the chaos of transition still causes him to feel nauseated.

 

He follows though, despite his misgivings, out into the warm, humid atmosphere of Yavin 4, the air is close and still, but he still takes a deep breath of fresh air and savours the earthy scents after so long inside.

 

He follows closely to Baze and Chirrut, dogging their heels determinedly anxious, despite the reassurance, of being left behind or being discovered by the other rebels with no one to vouch for him.

 

They pause just at the outskirts of the base where checks are taking place, and standing at the edge of the group Galen is nervously picking at his hangnails, when Chirrut goes still and tense beside him.

 

Galen panics, but years of slavery have taught him how to panic while standing still and maintaining an impressive poker face. Internally his heart races and sweat prickles under his arms and across his forehead.

 

Chirrut turns his head from side to side, and it takes Galen a moment to work out he's listening. The Chirrut reaches out not quite touching Galen and turns his palm upwards towards the sky. It's an arrangement they've come to between them, as it means that he gets Galens help, despite Galen thinks privately that he doesn't need it but wants to let Galen feel useful, but he doesn't touch Galen first.

 

He lets Galen be the one to reach out and make the contact, on the days when that has seemed like too much he's even let Galen get away with defying the unspoken order.

 

Galen reaches out and puts his hand into the other's palm, amazed as always when the other doesn't choose to damage his hands for his presumptuous daring.

 

Immediately Chirrut tugs him gently off to one side, he still has his head cocked to better follow the sound.

 

They've gone a few meters before Galen hears it too, laboured breathing interspersed with the occasional whimper. He clenches Chirrut hand as the sound brings back memories, but then forced himself to relax his tense fingers.

 

“Can you see?”

 

He drops Chirrut hand, pressing his hand to the other man's forearm, to attempt to reassure him, as they often do for him, that he will be returning, and follows the sound.

 

He finds huddled under a plant, a small brown dog, it's clearly injured, a pool of blood surrounds it and it's panting. The dog looks up at Galen out of anguished amber eyes and without thinking he kneels down to stroke the greying muzzle with one finger, seeking to comfort the ailing creature.

 

The dog presses into the touch and sighs, a though it's been waiting for a kind touch its entire life.

 

Trembling with an emotion he can't identify, but leaves him feeling winded, he reaches out to slide his hands gently under it. The dog squeaks as he gathers it close, incidentally jostling it's clearly broken leg, and he murmurs apologies to it, feeling wretched for increasing his suffering.

 

For a moment he struggles between the past and the present.

 

He'd found a mouse once,while he'd been in the Empire's hands, it had run through his cell most nights and he'd saved crumbs from whichever meager meals he'd managed to earn for himself. He'd named it and alone in the silence of his cell he talked to the small, grey mammal, then one of the troopers had caught him

They'd smirked at him and shot it then laughed at the devastation on his face.

 

Cassian won't, nor will Bodhi and he knows Baze and Chirrut won't even kill spiders if they have found their way into the bathroom. He doesn't know where the confidence has come from, the belief that despite it being clear that hurting the dog would hurt him, these rebels won't harm it.

 

He knows Cassian wouldn't let anything happen to Kaytoo or his crew, he won't let anything happen to the dog either Galen thinks as he walks back over to Chirrut, cuddling the dog to his chest.

 

He wonders if he can ever prove himself worthy enough to them so that he will too will fall under the umbrella of their protection and affection.

 

When he sees Cassian coming over doing an odd little half run, that Galen has noticed he does sometimes when he's trying to act casual while pretending he's not worried about something Galen vows to find a way to redeem himself, as he watches the gentleness of Cassian's touch when he reaches out to rub the dog's whiskery snout.


	18. Chapter 18

Alnada snuggles into the crook behind his knees as he lies on his side in his new room on Yavin 4, her chocolate brown head rests on his hip and her amber eyes are closed. She is snoring gently, a low whisper of sound.

 

She’s been a godsend for Galen, during this first week on the base. The other rebels are wary of him despite the acceptance of Cassian and the others.

 

Their hostility isn't so bad when he's with the others but on a few occasions he's been alone and he has caught some of them staring.

 

It makes him feel unsettled and insecure, wanting one of the others with him at all time despite hating himself for feeling that way, but whenever he is in the main common room or in the dining hall, areas Cassian has assured him he is permitted to be in, he will often hear waves of laughter.

 

He tries to tell himself he's being paranoid and that the rebels have plenty to talk about, plenty to laugh about, as the tide of the war shifts in their favour for the first time in a long, long, time but he can't prevent his shoulders from creeping upwards every time he enters a room and the occupants find something amusing.

 

All of his rebels, have noticed his unease and they go out of their way to help him, but none of the newer acquaintances have done a thing to him, and he can't adequately describe how unsettled he feels, so he does his best to play down his concerns.

 

Rather than cause Cassian, Bodhi or the others and more bother than he already has.

 

Without Alnada he wouldn't dare go out on his own, but sometimes she needs to go outside and he can't allow himself to let her down, not like he's let everyone else down that he's known.

 

He knows that ~~Master~~ Krennic, he shakes his head at himself, cursing himself for being unable to learn even the simplest of tasks, Krennic is in the base too and despite everything he still misses the other man, or at least the simplicity of his life, all he had had to do was please Master and when he failed than endure Masters anger. Here life is confusing and often overwhelming.

 

He knows too that Jyn is near by, Cassian had confessed to him that she was alive and he could see her if he wanted. He's refused so far, despite the guilt that pricks at him. Too ashamed to want to face the child he'd abandoned, afraid that she would look at him and know what he was.

 

He fears seeing hatred, or disgust in the eyes that Lyra had given their daughter.

 

He fears seeing pity there more.

 

There is nothing in Alnada gaze but warmth and devotion when she looks up at him, and he can never allow himself to let that trust be in vain, so he forces himself to take her out when she needs him too, and endures the presence of others.

 

Even on days when even the thoughts in his brain and his shadows on the walls are far too much company for him.

  
  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Phoenix for helping me with this, you've been a gem!!

Galen gasps as he awakens from yet another nightmare, he doesn't even have time to open his eyes properly, before he hears the door close, and feet pad closer to his bed. The bed dips and as someone, it'll be either Bodhi or Cassian he knows, probably Cassian, the man is a very light sleeper whereas Bodhi has slept through alarm drills.

“Galen?” At the whispered mumble of his name, the name everyone uses here, even to his face, he rolls his head across the pillow and looks up at Cassian’s rumpled figure. Galen doesn't have the breath to speak, till taking ragged breaths as he tries to calm down, but he stretches a hand out to Cassian.

Cassian reaches out and takes his hand, and Galen tightens his fingers over Cassian's and feels Cassian run his thumb over the back of his hand, back and forth, soothing and smoothing.

The bed dips as Cassian climbs into it, it's a smaller one than he was permitted to use before they arrived on Yavin 4, and his warm, muscular body tucks up behind Galen’s. Galen moves his feet as Cassian nudges his chilly ones between Galen’s warmer ones.

He wonders if he can ever feel safe again. Even lying in the warmth Cassian’s body, images of Stormtroopers and gray clad officers haunts him. Lying curled in his single bed, with Cassian next to him, his dog sleeping on the floor and his friends mere meters away in the next room, Galen concedes that this is still the safest he has felt in years. Even Cassian’s body pressed up against his back, has gradually transformed from the most threatening thing he can imagine to a sign of safety and acceptance.

Day after day, his mind makes another struggle to free itself from his slave self and the Empire, but he never quite manages it, and as the days slide by, and Galen is encouraged by the others to explore and to make friends, but never ventures too far from the safe haven that he's found himself in.

And night after night, he's held close and comforted back to sleep, by one or other of the rebels, until eventually the stops going to bed alone at all, and lays down for sleep with Cassian as a steady, warmth shielding him, watching his back.

He is not given a true assignment, however, despite all the years spent designing and building weapons against his will, he doesn't like not having anything to do. For years and years the only thing he was capable of doing that would delay or prevent having to service his superiors, the only thing that kept him safe was his genius.

Eventually it's Bodhi who suggests, gently while emphasising that he doesn't have to unless he’d like to, that he might like to help out with some of the mission intel. It's almost fun, he spends several days in the archives with the others, he sees Jyn from a distance and gets to just watch her as she lives her life, but surrounded by the rest of the rebels that he knows he is kept insulated and protected.

But just when he thinks he might be safe again, disaster strikes him like a fierce bolt of lightning determined to keep him pressed under and kept in submission. General Draven wanders into the archives where he's working one sunny afternoon, Bodhi has taken the dog for a walk and Cassian is off debriefing someone, while Baze and Chirrut have gone off together somewhere, and Galen doesn't even know he's there until the man lays a hand on his back, high up near his neck, the thumb runs over the vertebra,that is just peaking out from under his shirt.

“Ah.. so, you're the Captains whore,”

Galen feels his blood freeze in his veins, and for a moment he can’t even move as a wave of denial crashes over him.

“He told me all about you,” Draven rubs the thumb that’s not on his neck across his cheekbone and down towards his mouth. Galen goes still, at the implications, they wouldn’t, they’re his friends, this isn’t.

“No,” he breathes, he doesn't know if it's a rejection of the man in front of him or in denial of his words.

The hand on his neck tightens, “What did you say to me,” Draven's speaks slowly, as if attempting to hide unspoken but blatant anger. When Galen doesn't answer, Draven's unspoken anger becomes very much spoken. “Answer me, bitch.”

All of a sudden, Galen feels reminded strongly of the Empire days, and nausea wells up from the pit of his belly. He freezes, too terrified to move or even speak, and his eyes widen exponentially. His mind begins to take hold of him, forcing him back to the slave mindset.

“N-Nnnothing...M-Master,” Galen replies meekly. When he looks into Draven's eyes as he addresses him by that title, his heart sinks when he realises Draven doesn't look startled the way Cassian and Baze had. The look in his eyes uncannily resembles the same look Master Krennic gives him when he’s about to be punished. Master Draven stands up.

“Cassian. Well, It’s Captain Andor to you, slut. And he has told me everything about you, all the ways in which you’ve been trained to serve your Masters. Do you need to learn a lesson about obedience?”

Galen shivers as the memories of all the various methods that have been employed over the years to instil obedience in him, run through his mind. Cassian _wouldn't_ have said anything to General Draven about him, he thinks desperately, he wouldn't. Despite the need to believe that Cassian and the others wouldn't offer his services to others on the base, he's well aware that General Draven outranks Cassian and that the General can order Cassian and so the can order Galen. 

He dreads whatever lesson Master wants to give him, but he doesn't dare reject a direct order from Master, not when it will have consequences for others and not just himself, wishing bitterly that for once there was someone else to bear the consequences for him.

So Galen does the one thing he knows to do, and he sinks to his hands and knees, presenting himself to Master.

Internally, a storm passes through him. He feels strangely betrayed by the sweet promises he's been made, but at the same time, he desperately needs to believe Cassian has nothing to do with what's happening right now, and he definitely has no say over what his general chose to do. Galen felt trapped, scared, and broken beyond reason, but when he feels his pants get pulled down, all thoughts cease to exist.

But this is different.

He doesn't feel the normal burning, white hot pain of being raped. Instead, he feels an equally painful sting of what felt like a belt.

Galen grinds his forehead into his fists, shame burning through him but doesn't make a sound because the collar trained him not to.The can feel himself beginning to revert his mindset, slip back into patterns of behaviour that he'd only just begun to put behind him.

He knows that if this had happened while he was still in the Empire’s grasp, he would have brushed it off as another punishment, he would have had no other choice but to. Now though, now, he feels so utterly demolished.  

“Well?” Master demands. “Beg me for another.” Galen’s eyes go wide and he feels all the more crushed under Master’s presence. But he still doesn't dare disobey.

“Please, Master, may I have another.” It isn't a question. His voice becomes so taut with anguish and shame, his words have to be squeezed out, each one more painful than the last. Not even a few seconds pass before a second blow is administered, and this time, a whimper slips free. But instead of being angry, Master seems to enjoy the pain of his property and the noise reminds him of his power as such.

He keeps it up for eighteen more swings, and by the end of it, Galen’s skin is well marked and ready to bleed if more is administered, his chest is shuddering with unshed sobs. Master squeezes his ass roughly, and he groans lowly.

“I’ll be seeing more of you, slut,” Draven murmurs, too close to Galen’s sensitive ear. “Stop your dramatics,or Cassian and Baze might 'accidentally’ crash land on Mustafar during their next mission.”

Galen nods fervently, fear clawing at him. For a moment it occurs to him to tell the others, but the threat against them makes him pause, the thought  that they might not believe him, Of having to listen to them dismiss his protests and send him anyway causes him to reject the idea entirely.

Before it was open assault, but now...he would be forced to endure on his own. Not that he'd rather have an audience when he was being raped or whipped, but he's going to miss the comfort of Cassian, Bodhi's intense devotion when he's afraid, and even kaytoo’s quips and snarks designed to lessen his fear.

“Yes, Master,” Galen says when Master slaps him, waiting for an answer.

“Good,” Master purrs. Galen suddenly has a longing for Master Krennic's touch that held a hint of affection. What Master Draven gave him was nothing but pain and they had yet to truly begin.

“You will come here tomorrow, 0500. Tell Cassian General Draven wants to consult the X-Wing modifiers.”

“Yes Master.” 

Galen wants to die. Humiliation rolls over him like a stormcloud and said stormcloud begins raining misery down on him.

Master gives him the bare minimum bacta reluctantly, but he knows that he couldn't risk Cassian seeing it or one of the doctors who happened to do a checkup. And it'd be pretty hard to be convincing if Galen leapt up every time he sat down.

Master sends Galen back to Cassian’s quarters as soon as he’s decently fit and can at least sit down without wincing obviously. It's only when he returns to Cassian’s quarters, he realizes how much time has passed. Cassian lazily asks what took him so long while he rolls over in bed to give Galen space.

“I had to do some research,” Galen replies swiftly. He feels a horrible knot growing in his stomach as he tells the lie, but he's always been the body to be abused, at least this time there is a purpose. He can bleed for the sake of his friends. Better to keep Cassian safe than make himself that bit less hurt.

He almost caves and tells Cassian everything, when the other man smiles at him, fond and sweet, but he can't bring himself to ask whether the safety he's held onto, and the affection he's surrounded himself in is real. He can't bear to have the illusion ripped away and have nothing in it's place.

Galen jerks awake in the middle of the night, Master’s face haunting him. He feels Cassian’s hardness press into the crook of his ass and he chokes back a whimper of pain. He falls asleep trying not to bring any attention to his sore ass.

 

The door slides open and Galen stares down at his feet, his heart rate picking up as his anxiety suddenly skyrockets the desperate calm he'd felt disintegrating suddenly.

“Come in.”

Shaking, he steps across the threshold, hugging his arms around his body for comfort as he glances, quickly, furtively around the room.

“Strip.” Draven orders, flatly. He steps away from Galen and sits down in an office chair in front of a loaded desk, covered with books, messages,plans, a half eaten pack of biscuits and discarded cups.

Galen feels his skin chill, as ice floods his veins at the coldly ordered word. He glances through the scant protection of his fringe at Draven, who cocks his head a little and orders again, “strip. Now. You won't like it if I have to come and do it for you.”

Unable to bare making eye contact, Galen stares at the middle of the other man's chest, while he begins to fumble at the buttons on his shirt. He takes his time, half wanting to delay whatever is waiting for him and half because his hands are trembling so hard it makes undoing his buttons a laborious task. When the last button is undone he takes a deep, steadying breath and let's the material slips from his shoulders. He begins to fold the garment, but Draven leans forwards in his chair and snatches it from his hands.

“Leave it. And get on with it. I don't need a strip tease, and I certainly don't have all day, understand?”

“Yes, Master.” The words trip off his tongue, automatic and dull. 

He kicks his shoes off and stands on one foot, then the other and peels off his socks dropping them onto his shoes, he swallows hard then tugs his trousers and underwear off in one swift move. Not wanting to make a display of himself and too afraid to linger over the hateful task.

He stands naked, his hands twitching at his side's as he fights down the desire to cover himself. Draven sits back in his chair, the furniture creaking under his weight as it redistributes, for a long moment nothing happens.

“Turn around and bend over.”

Numbly, he does as ordered, he turns on the spot, facing away from the other man, staring blankly at the wall in front of him for a moment before, gathering his flagging courage and bending over, grabbing at his own ankles, both to help keep position and for something to hold onto.

He wishes he could regain the numb, empty headspace that he'd lived in on Eadu, but at some point, under Cassian’s tender care the numbness had faded away and left him in full knowledge of himself. He'd only just begun to examine his feelings, his distress and dismay over his captivity.  For years, he'd been simply playing catch-up, trying desperately to appease his captors, not even to please them, he'd long since given up on the possibility that he could ever do that. He'd resigned himself to merely managing to meet the minimum of their expectations, however hard he'd tried, just struggling to behave well enough to earn enough food to survive until the next day where he'd have to try all over again. Not even expecting to be able to avoid punishment because his very presence inspired the need to correct him and he was unable to give his master's what they truly wanted of him. 

His absence.

Now though, coherent and aware he has to endure what Draven will mete out to him without the comforting haze of his dissociation.

He startles when a hand lands on his hip and bites his lip into his mouth to stifle his sound of protest. Draven makes a shushing sound and to his horror, Galen feels tears well up in response to the off hand comfort. It reminds him of Cassian after he has a nightmare or Bodhi when he's upset, and the sensation of familiarity is so jarring, he sways and nearly falls.

The hand at his hip tightens, then another hand lands on the other hip. His cheeks are gathered in those two big hands and pulled apart, exposing him.

His belly clenches, sickness rising up, shame and discomfort at the knowledge of his vulnerability.

“Tighter than I would have though, whore.” Draven says, his voice mild and almost earnestly surprised. One hand leaves his buttocks and runs gently across his hole, instead. “Much tighter. I was expecting you to be as loose as a 2 credit whore on an army base, or worse. Considering as you never bothered to charge. A two-credit, but don't worry if you don't have the money I'll fuck you anyway, whore. Right?”

Shame curdles in his belly, at the harsh words, feeling them all the worse for the soft way in which they were spoken.

Fingers rub at his hole, and he fights not to squirm away from the touch. 

“Stand still.” Draven says, his voice clearer as though he's leaning forwards in his chair. “Stay, they taught you that, didn't they? Well remember this; present. I'll expect you to bend over for me on that command.” 

Galen swallows, the sound of his dry throat clicking is loud and obvious.

Draven chuckles behind him and Galen shuts his eyes, feeling the misery rise up inside him. 

The fingers pressed against him still, but don't withdraw. 

“Did they ever fist you?”

Galen flinches hard, twitches away from the hands on his body. 

“Ah, ah, ah, don't do that. Stay still.” The hand on his hip tightens at Draven's mocking words, “stand still, well? Did they? Answer the question.”

“No, Master. No.” 

“Hmmmmm,” Draven let's out a thoughtful hum and strokes harder at his hole, “no? What did they do? I've seen some of your work, what else did they do to you?”

Swallowing, Galen casts his mind back frantically through memories he'd far rather stayed forgotten, trying to find d an answer to satisfy Draven. An answer that won't cause him to much suffering.

“I, they, there was a plug.” He mumbles, stuttering out the confession into his knees.

“A plug? To keep you from leaking everywhere?” Draven chuckles, “even your insides were marked by your betters.” Draven taps a finger against his hole and he shudders at the sensation, his skin crawling with horror and disgust. “What else?”

He racks his brain, all that comes to mind are incidents he'd rather not repeat for fear of Draven trying them. His mind fixes on a time a Stormtrooper stuffed the barrel of a blaster into him, he'd been sweating and terrified, unable to move at all for fear of causing the device to activate. “They- er- well, they used the handle of a flashlight.” He remembers it so clearly he can almost feel the ghost of it inside him. Feel the cold, bulky metal that had been stuffed uncomfortably into his rectum, while he'd been made to kneel with his face to the floor and try to keep,the shame, pain and rage from overwhelming him.

Behind him, Draven makes a muttered murmur, presumably of agreement as he doesn't say anything for a moment,instead presses two fingers up against Galen.

He holds his breath and tries to relax his body, tries to force himself not to tense up in the expectation of pain, knowing that being tense will make it worse. 

For a long moment, nothing happens, then Draven drags his fingers down, and gathers Galen's balls into one huge hand, tightens his grip just enough for it to begin to hurt, and says softly, “later, plenty of time, isn't there, whore? No need to rush these things, not when the waiting adds spice.”

Galen breathes a sigh of relief as the hand let's go and he's shoved away. 

“Get up.”

His stomach unclenches a little, he tries not to feel too much relief as he stands and turns back to Draven, letting his hands knot together in front of his groin, hiding his vulnerability as best he can.

“Look at these.”

Draven shoves a file at him. It catches him in the ribs, before his hands automatically rise to take it. He opens it with shaking hands, staring down at the intel file.

“Update anything you know is out of date. Any mistakes or inconsistencies report to me immediately, do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” He understands, he understands very well.

“Don't try anything smart,” Draven reaches out and grabs Galen's chin, not allowing him to look away. “If you put anything untrue in that file I'll give you such a whipping you won't want to live. And that will just be the start of it, understand.” He pauses, Galen tries to clear his throat enough to talk, to agree. “I said. Do you understand.”

He nods, against the pressure of Draven's hand.

“Good. Good boy.”

Galen closes his eyes as a rush of relief at Draven's words cause a swell of shame to  crash over him.

Draven let's go and steps back, settling back into his chair. 

Galen looks around, wondering if he's supposed to take the file and go or if he is meant to work at his Master's feet.

“Here.” Draven pets at his own lap. Galen feels his heart sink, but says nothing just takes a haltering step forward until he's within reach. Then stops and lingers awkwardly. Draven tuts and hauls him forward, pulling and tugging until he has.Galen perched on his lap. Still clutching the file. 

“Well, get on with it.”

Shaking, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears, he opens the file and begins to browse through the contents. Draven draws a single finger down the length of his bicep and he can feel his skin ticking with disgust at the other man's touch.

The figures on the page blur and he has to blink hard to force back the tears and bring the words back into focus.

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

“Morning.” Cassian grunts as he rolls over, his breath gusting over Galen’s shoulder as he moves.

“Morning.”

“You slept poorly last night, did you have nightmares?”

Unwilling to lie, he avoids eye contact, picking at some dry skin near his thumb nail, and half shrugs his left shoulder.

“Want to talk about it?”

Relief and annoyance slide through him, relief that he won't have to lie and annoyance that he  _ can’t  _ talk about what's upsetting him. Not without endangering them.

“Just-” he shrugs and waves a hand vaguely. His heart picks up a notch, sweat prickling under his arms when Cassian’s eyes narrow at him. “I was just unsettled.” he finishes lamely.

“New place.” Cassian agrees, but there is a line between his eyebrows and his eyes are still narrowed. “Well, I’ll try to see if we can't put off for a few days, but Draven needs this intel so I suspect that we will all be shipping out today. Will that bother you?”

“You're going? Where?”

“Just back to one of the other bases to meet with another group who have been further out for a few months. Draven wants us to update each other on all intel. Normally he goes himself but what with everything that's been happening around here,” Cassian waves encompassing Galen and the rest of the room, “well, he wants to stay here and go through all the data you brought and everything we've got from Krennic.”

“It’s safe?”

“For you, ye-”

“No, for you.”

“Safe as a spy ever is.” Cassian grins, but the smile drops off his face when he notices the tension that Galen knows he's not hiding well on his own face. “Yeah, Galen, I'll be back before you know it. We’re all going. Well, except you, I'm afraid. Draven won't hear about it until you've been signed off from medical.”

Galen clenches his fingers in the bedspread, and Cassian reaches over and prises his fingers away, wraps his own hand around Galen’s and squeezes.

“Two days, maybe three, then we’ll be back. Jyn too, perhaps when she gets back you’d like to talk to her? I know you're nervous but she wants to see you, just to know you're alright. Or at least to see you with her own eyes. The last time she saw you it looked like you were going to bleed out on the floor.”

Galen nods, he's anxious about such a meeting, but knows that it cannot be postponed forever.

 

He stands out near the hangars, Baze and Bodhi flank him, bags at their feet.

“We won't be gone long,” Bodhi tells him softly, “I wish you could come with us, I don't like leaving you. Still, at least your safe here.”

Unable to bare making eye contact Galen looks away and stares at the ship, the ship the others will be boarding soon, without him.

“Take care of yourself while we’re gone,” Baze adds. “I know you've not had much chance to meet the others on the base, but everyone seems pretty nice. And Noris is here, you remember? The guy from engineering? I'm sure he’ll be pleased to see you if you head down. And you've got an appointment at the Med Bay the day after tomorrow don't forget.”

Galen nods, half irritated and half touched at the care they are showing him, even if it does sound like they think he is going to starve without them.

“Let's get going!” A dark, heavy set man roars from behind them and Galen jumps, almost tripping over Bodhi’s bag. Bodhi picks it up swinging it over his shoulder and grins apologetically at him. Baze hugs him, slowly, reaching in almost imperceptibly, giving Galen every opportunity to back away. It's nice, he reflects, being held, without any expectations, just being held because the holder thinks it will make him feel better.

“Look after yourself,” Baze tells him gruffly, squeezes his shoulder, then sets off after the other man. Bodhi follows Baze’s example with a tight hug, before leaving in Baze’s wake.

He hovers for a moment feeling awkward amongst all the others who clearly know each other, the outsider again, then turns to go.

“Galen!”

It takes him a moment to recall that the name means him now, then he stops abruptly at Cassian's call.

“Galen, I'm glad I caught you.” Like the others Cassian wraps him into a warm hug, unlike the others he holds it a little longer, buries his face in Galen's shoulder, then steps away while still holding onto his biceps. “I'm glad I got to say goodbye. We won't be gone long, just a day or two.”

“I know.” he tries to sound positive about it, to hide how much he's dreading the loss of Cassian's protection. And if he's honest with himself, Cassian's warmth and humour. The steadying presence of all of the others.

“Good, I'll see you in a couple of days, ok? Don't forget you've got a Med Bay visit the day after tomorrow. If you need anything go down to see Schmit, technically he's in accounts but he can sort you out with anything, extra food, clothes, messages. You name it, he's your man. Got it? OK, good, I have to go. Are you sure you're going to be ok?”

He nods, forcing himself to stay relaxed, keep any hint of deceit out of his posture.

“OK, well, I’ll go. I'll see you soon.” With one last squeeze of Galen’s biceps, Cassian turns and leaves.

Swallowing back dread, he heads down to the exercise grounds, all animals are housed there and he is able to get his dog before he sees the ships leave. He shades his eyes from the sun and watches as the ship becomes a speck, and eventually fades from sight, while he sits on the ground with his fingers tangled in the thick fur on Alnada’s neck. 

 

A small noise flitters across his senses and he half wakes, his eyelids fluttering before sinking shut again. Warm, snuggles into the bedding he relaxes and drops back into sleep. 

The bed jostles slightly, the mattress dipping and the weight behind him causes him to roll slightly toward the warm body behind him.  _ Cassian _ , he thinks, as he slides deeper into unconsciousness.

An arm slides over his waist, and hips bump into his buttocks. He stirs slightly and shifts away from Cassian, the arm around him tightens, tugging him backwards. The hips at his back grind forwards, blinking in the pitch black of his room, he tries to wake up. He can feel a thought worming to the surface of his consciousness, warning him of something, but can't quite put his finger on it. The hips press against him again, and he can feel the stiffness of an erection, and he rolls instinctively away. The arm over him bars his way and he's tugged back.

“Ah, ah, ah.”

He stills in an instant, horror flooding his veins, for a moment horror and confusion are all he knows as he tries to reconcile the truths that he knows.  _ Cassian does sleep in this bed. Sometimes Cassian does get hard. But, but, Cassian isn't  _ **_here_ ** _ , and he'd never do  _ **_this._ ** _ Cassian’s off on a mission _ .

Screwing his eyes closed in the dark, he lies still, pretending to be asleep, in the hopes that whoever has climbed into his bed with him will leave. Instead the erection is pressed into the cleft of his buttocks, despite the thin layer of cloth he can feel the heat. 

The hitching of his breath gives him away, and he feels the chest pressed up against his back move as the intruder chuckles.

“Please,” he whispers, his heart thundering in panic. Stubble grazes over his neck and his lower jaw. Then he feels breath against his ear.

“Shhhh,” at the single murmured word, he feels his stomach drop as the truth of the situation that he had been desperately trying to ignore becomes completely evident. General Draven is in his bed with him.

Fine trembling sets up in his hands and he curls them into fists in an effort to hide his fear and distress. “Please,” he starts again, “please, sir, I'm not supposed to service-”

“Well, obviously we don't want to disobey the good doctor's orders, do we?”

He can feel the trap, he knows that he isn't getting away with a mere excuse, but his traitorous body relaxes at the softly spoken words, his heart rate slows, despite his knowledge.

“Of course, if you don't give me what I want, what you've given loads of other people, whore, don't go playing the innocent with me, then my orders for your little friends are going to change.” Draven pauses, tugs harder until Galen can feel his ribs bending under the other man's grip as he is hauled up against the big muscled body behind him. “What do you suppose the life expectancy of spy is on Mustafa? Or if I decide we need the original blueprints for the death star, and I send him off to get them? Do you think he'll make it back? I don't. And then there will be no one here to save you.”

Tears prick at his eyes, and he has to shut them and swallow hard, his terror mainly for his friends but under that is a small, pathetic little part of himself that panics at the thought of being alone again, alone in a world of soldiers who think he's nothing but a toy for their amusement. Better once for Draven than day in, day out for this whole base without any hope of rescue. Because there wouldn't be he realises like a bolt from the blue, if he loses his allies within the resistance he has no one.

“What-” he swallows as his voice cracks under the strain of speaking, “what do you want me to do.”

“Nothing you haven't done before. Come on now, roll over for me, knees up, yes that's right, head down. Stay like that.”

Quaking harder, he kneels in the darkness, his forehead against the soft cotton of his sheets, his knees pressed into his mattress, ass in the air, knuckles fisted in the sheets near his face. A cold hand shoves at his shirt, pushing it up and the cloth falls down around his face and over his shoulders leaving his midriff bare. Chilly fingers slide down his spine, curve over  his ribs. His retch takes him by surprise, the sudden nausea overwhelming him as his body convulses under the prying hands.

“Now, now, none of that.”

“Sorry, Master.” He breathes the words out on autopilot, his mind racing but no thoughts sticking with him, everything lost in the haze of his panic.

His pants are pulled down, swiftly, no warning and they collect at his knees. He lifts one, thinking that perhaps Draven will tug them completely off and leave him naked, but he doesn't. Fingers curl around his hips and he bites his lip into his mouth and presses his face further into the bedding, determined not to scream.  _ It won't do any good, _ he reasons to himself. Long experience has taught him that his body's instinctive reactions are an irritant at best and will provoke his betters into fits of rage at worst. 

He hears rustling of cloth behind him and feels the mattress dipping, bile creeps up his throat and he has to swallow hard to prevent himself from gagging again.

Thumbs hook between his buttocks and yank them apart exposing him, and he feels his legs twitch in response, as his blood turns to ice. 

“Hold,” the order is issued flatly and for a moment he can't make sense of the word. Draven let's go with one hand and slaps at his bicep. Reluctantly he relinquishes his death grip on the sheets and pulls his cheeks apart himself, rolling his head to the side so he can support his weight on his shoulder now his hands are occupied.

“Remember, one word of this to anyone and I'll arrange a little accident for your friends and I'll have all the time in the world to do whatever I please to you after that. Understand?”

He tries to assure Draven that he does, he understands, he knows all too well what men like him will do to unprotected slaves if they can but his voice simply clicks in his throat and no sound emerges.

Draven chuckles again.

Warm flesh presses against him and a hand curls around his right hip, dragging him back, pressuring at him. He tries to relax and let it gain entry but he's frightened and his healing body is tighter than it was.

“Let me in.”

“Sorry, Master.” He manages to gasp, trying not to let his body move away from the pain, “I'm not prepared.” He feels a coil of shame and fury at himself at the admission. He rarely went anywhere unprepared on Eadu, it probably saved his life on occasion when no one could be bothered to be patient with him and no one would spare his absence to allow him treatment afterwards.

Draven grunts behind him, then the pressure retreats and a heavy slap lands on his thigh, followed by another dozen or so in quick succession all over this legs, buttocks and lower back as Draven loses his temper.

The weight between his spread knees lifts, and the mattress rocks, he stares into the darkness trying not to hope. A light clicks on in the 'fresher, the dim light causes shadows to leap up the walls and he can see his own hunched form in profile across the wall.

“Get on with it.”

He jumps, and half sits up. There's a faint thud as a tube is dropped into the bed beside him, shower gel. There isn't much left, he unscrews the lid with shaking hands and runs his finger inside the neck of the tube trying to scrape out as much as he can. Then turning his face away he reaches behind himself to work his fingers quickly into himself. Opening himself up as quickly as possible, before Draven loses patience and forces his way into his body. He clears the tube out of the gel and tries to leave as much of the slippery substance inside himself as possible, his heart clenching and nervous sweat forming on his body at the knowledge that there isn't enough. This is going to  _ hurt _ . And he's going to have to hide it from everyone, no one can know or he is going to risk the lives of his friends.

His belly clenches as he assumes the position Draven had shoved him into before, holding himself open, with his face turned to one side staring hard at the wall. To his horror he sees the shadow of Draven approaching his own shadowed distorted huddle, it adds to the bewildering terror of the ordeal as he feels hands wrap again around his hips and feels, while he watches them become one.

Draven grunts behind him, burying himself in short harsh thrusts. It's an effort to not be shoved forwards and without his hands it's difficult to maintain his balance. 

He stares at their shadows and fights to remain in position as he'd been ordered.

His core is screaming in protest, his whole body trembling with pain, strain and distress by the time it finally stops.

“No one is going to believe you,” Draven threatens as he sits on the edge of the bed sorting out his clothing. Impossibly giggles rise, and he has to muffle himself, despite the situation the cliche is so trite he nearly laughs in his rapists face at it.

The door hisses closed and he's left alone. He slumps down onto his belly, letting himself curl into a little protective huddle, as though it can possibly help him now. He can feel Draven's release beginning to work it's way out of him and clenches in an effort to prevent it getting on his sheets. He doesn't think he could bare to have them on the bed again if he gets cum on them, even if they have been laundered. He doesn't know how he would explain his sudden dislike of these sheets to Cassian if the other man were to notice.

After a few minutes, calm falls over him, and he pulls himself out of his foetal curl and strips his sheets, dumping them beside the door before heading into the fresher.

He turns the heat as high as it will go but steps in before the water has a change to warm through. Stands shivering under the spray until it becomes bareable. 

His shivering continues, but he ignores it, scrubbing at his body. He has to use shampoo all over, he's out of shower gel now.

Pink tinged bubbles swirl down the drain, and he knows that his next check up at the med bay is going to be a challenge. He tries to calm himself, both from the panic of his upcoming appointment with the medics and from the worry about what's going to happen next. He tries to reason with himself that he's still in better care here than he was back on Eadu. It's true too, but he doesn't like it here on the base as much as he had before when Draven and the others hadn't been there. 

Back in his room, he pulls on new clothes, fresh from the packs. Still a little too large, Cassian had got them in anticipation of the weight that he has still yet to gain back. They bag unflatteringly on his still too gaunt frame. He pulls clean sheets on his bed, the looks at the little pile of dirty laundry. His skin prickles at the idea of gathering it up and heading down to the laundry room to clean it. Both from disgust at having to touch the stained clothing, the clothing that Draven has sullied with his touch, and from panic at leaving his room and wandering through the base on his own at night. It's not forbidden, but it feels frightening all the same. He doubts that Draven will accept that if he catches him. He's learned that the only way to remain safe is to try and remain out of sight, let your abusers forget about you. It doesn't always work, but he knows that half of the reason for his abuse is simply having the means to do so.

He leaves the bundle of cloth in the doorway and climbs back into bed, as nervous, in the bed, as he'd been when he had only just arrived in the Rebels hands.

He tries to relax enough to sleep, to keep him mind from dwelling uselessly on the latest violation.

He tries to work out if he'd ever been able to shower straight after a rape before, his brain grateful for the distraction away from the latest one. An occasion when he'd been tugged straight from the shower and used floats to the surface of his memory, so vivid for a moment that he can almost feel the ghosts of hands on his biceps as he was manhandled out from under the water the moment the three minutes he'd been allowed had been used up. After having spent those precious three minutes soaping away the evidence of the previous week in the Empire's hands it had taken the handler less than ten minutes to replace the filth on his skin. He'd been escorted from the washroom with the man's come not even beginning to dry on his thighs.

He worries at the though like a dog with a bone until eventually a memory that fits the criteria is uncovered and he recalls in the middling years of his captivity being taken on the concrete in the courtyard when the men who were to hose him down that week were late. The handler with him had been irritable, checking his watch and shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Galen had been able to pinpoint the exact moment the though had occurred to the other man by how still he went. The order to strip and lie face down on the floor had been unsurprising. The handler had finished with him mere seconds before the others had arrived and they had roughly turned the hose on him soon after. Smirking at the sight of blood and cum between his legs.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay that's everything for now folks, I might add an epilogue of some M/M action at a later date but for now my attention has been taken by exams and some of my other works!

A knock on the door wakes him, he bolts upright his heart pounding in his chest. Nervously he swings his legs out of bed and goes to investigate. 

He cracks the door open an inch and peers through the gap. His heart sinks. Draven.

“Finally!” Draven snaps, shouldering the door open and stepping into the little room.

Instinctively, Galen shies away backwards, putting space between them until his leg bumps into the corner of his bed. He tenses at the knowledge that Draven was here only hours before, at what happened. The dirty laundry that was created lies in a sad heap on the floor near the door. 

“Come,” the man orders, reaching out a grabbing Galen’s bicep. 

He is tugged along, his heart knocking against his chest, breath hitching painfully as he pants. Trembling in just his night clothes he is lead through the halls until they come to the cells. Recognition spikes through him and he relaxes, assuming that Draven wants him held securely until the others return. It's not good but it's better than he had been fearing.

Draven stavs a code into the keypad and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Get in.” Draven snarls, forcing him forward. 

Stumbling in, he tries to wriggle his arm free from Draven’s grasp, his hand is getting pins and needles from the strength of the other man's grip. 

He's stopped by a slap across the back of his head. “Stop it.” Draven growls.

Movement from the other end of the cell stops him dead in his tracks. It's dimly lit and all he can see are two other body's. Panic flares hot along his spine and he rears backwards, turning intent or escape.

“Stop it.” Draven snaps again, “help me with it, Kribrad.” 

A second set of hands close around his shoulders and he lets out a shriek of shock and terror. Another blow lands hard across his head, followed by several more in quick succession across his back and shoulders.

“You're doing it all wrong.” A familiar voice calls out.

He's wrestled to the floor and his hands are tugged behind his back. Cuffs are tightened around his wrists as he bucks and writhes trying desperately to prevent it. He can't tell if he's still screaming or shouting or begging. All he can hear is a panicked ringing in his ears.

The cuffs click and there is a final slap delivered, ringing and painful across the back of his shoulders. He goes still, panting raggedly through his nose.

He's is tugged to his feet, and pulled across the room, face to face with-

“Master,” he gasps, his emotions fracturing. He doesn't know whether to cry from relief or terror. Master is here.

Krennic smiles, “ah, slut. There you are, have you been being good?”

Unable to answer, he stares at the floor and mumbles, “master,” weakly in the hopes that it will pacify.

“Krennic.” Draven snaps, “I told you that we need you to talk to us about the Empire's plans.”

Master raises his eyebrows and Galen watches anxiously, his head swiveling from side to side. 

“Nothing to say? Okay, well let's see if we can't loosen your tongue a little.”

Heavy hands fall on his shoulders and shove him downwards as a foot jabs at the back of his knees. He crumples to the floor his knees catching hard. Immediately his hands are freed, and before he has a moment to struggle refastened in front of him. The short chain connecting his wrists is run through a ring set into the floor. He has no choice but to kneel awkwardly keeping his shoulders closer to the floor than he would like as his hands are clipped down. A heavy hand twines into his hair and shoves his face into the floor, a boot settles on his neck. Then hands tug at his clothes.

“No.” He gasps. “Please.”

He's kicked in the ribs, the hands continue to strip him as though he hadn't spoken. He's left in just his underwear and his relief at not being stripped naked in a room with three men, two of whom have had him before is nearly overwhelming.

The hands leave his body and the boot leaves his neck. He kneels alone. Trembling violently, as he struggles to free his hands.

There is a strange whistling noise, a cry of alarm, then fire draws itself along his back, tracing from one shoulder to the other. 

He screams and tries to writhe away, tries to tug his hands through the cuffs. Another blow lands, and another. 

He's so thin now, he's certain he's being cut straight to the bone.

The blows continue without mercy, raining down on his back as he screams and struggles.

Eventually he goes still and his cries grow hoarse.

“Enough.” He hears Master say, distantly an eternity later. “You'll kill it.”

“That could well happen. It makes no odds to me.” Draven says. “Unless you're ready to talk to me then we shall have to carry on.”

Another blow lands on his raw back and a hoarse moan rattles through the air. The sound of it frightens him. He must be dying.

“Let's talk terms.” Master says.

“I'd be delighted,” Draven replies.

He is left alone on his knees, it takes him a long few minutes to raise his head enough to look down at himself. He can't sit up far enough to see much but there is blood soaking the floor around him.

Every move sends pain lancing down his spine.

“So we have an agreement.” The words become progressively louder as Draven strides back over.

“Untie it, can you? I've no desire to grub about on the floor.”

He is pulled up and his cuffs undone, then he's allowed to drop back onto the floor. He tries to get up but his body is beyond his conscious control. 

The door slides closed again with a hiss, the thud of the lock engaging, sealing him in with Master.

His mind is a malestrom of conflicting feelings, he's so happy to be near Master again, for all that the other man is likely to hurt him. Master was his one source of comfort for years, and he just saw Draven off. But yet, a small part of his mind is so confused, even Masters most dedicated care had been nothing compared to even the least of what Cassian gives him everyday. He feels guilty at the notion that he's betraying both of them somehow.

Then Master's hands land on his body and he goes still, his brain blanking under the weight of his fear.

“Up you get.” Master tugs at him and he does his best to obey. Forces his shaking legs to hold him up as best he can. Master holds him up under the armpits, his hands dig into the tender flesh as he is walked forwards. Towards Masters bed.

He is laid out across it. His feet on the floor, his fingers hooking into the fabric of the sheets.

Master tugs his underwear off, he hears the soft rustle as the fabric hits the floor.

“Don't.” He asks, begs. His voice a reedy thin creak.

Master doesn't reply just grabs his buttocks and spreads him wide. A finger runs over his, already aching, hole.

“You've been naughty pet. Not waiting for your Master. Spreading your slut legs for anyone.”

He cowers for a moment, then rage rises and he makes an attempt to rise. He knows it's stupid, he can't escape. The doors locked.

He doesn't even make if off the bed before Master strikes him across the width of his back. The agony causes his arms to buckle and he slumps face first into the mattress.

Masters hands finds his hips again. Pulling and pushing him into position.

He shuts his eyes and tries to keep the noises of pain locked in his throat as Master make use of his body. He's shaking so hard by the end that distantly he wonders if he's having a fit. Master shoves him onto the floor and he hits hard, waves of sickening pain roll over him and he can hear an animal shrieking in the distance. He tries to get up and go to it. It needs putting out of its misery if nothing else. Master kicks his leg. “Stop that noise.”

He bites his lip and holds his breath, confused when the noise stops. When he has to start breathing again he hears laboured, wet huffs on every exhale.

He shuts his eyes. 

* * *

 

He's woken by a vicious blow across the width of his back.

He isn't given any chance to get up himself. If merely grabbed and tugged to his feet. He hangs limply in the grasp of his latest captors.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Master drawls from behind him.

He's dragged away. Feet slipping and sliding along the floor, until they are back in Dravens office and he's dropped onto the floor.

“Get up.”

He tries, puts every last ounce of every he has left into the order. Desperately afraid of what Draven will do to him. His arms keep buckling as he tries to pull himself up and he keeps toppling back to the ground. Keens of pain keep slipping past his lips and tears are streaming down his face.

“You are pathetic.” Draven says flatly and pulls him up. “Hands flat on the desk. Spread your legs. Bend over a bit. Right, don't move.”

Draven's big hands settle on his inner thighs, the fingers trailing over his skin.

“What do you think the medics will think, if they come to tend to you and he sees my spend all down your legs?”

“No,” he begs at a whisper, “please, don't, not yet.”

“You don't have a choice, whore.”

Draven presses against him, and he sobs.

Behind him the door opens and he hears a startled hiss, and a hurried apology.

“No, come here.” Draven says pulling away. Galen beings to pull himself up, determined to hide from this new comer.

“Sir?”

“Tend to this.”

Galen turns just enough that he catches Draven gesturing at him.

“Sir?” The young lad says again, weakly. His eyes are huge with shock.

“Just do it, Zacean. Can't you see it's hurt.”

At the mention of his injuries, the boy hurries forward. “These are lash marks.” he says hesitantly.

Draven doesn't respond beyond a snapped, “hurry up and deal with it.”

The lad jumps, wavers looking between Draven and Galen and back again. Slowly, he roots around in the bag he's brought with him and then begins to wind pre soaked bacta bandages around Galen's back.

It stings and he bites his lip to prevent any sounds of pain from slipping free.

As soon as the bandages are in place, Draven drags the boy back. 

“Leave the rest of the bacta and get out. Shut the door behind you!”

The lad pauses, “sir, Galen is-”

“None of your concern, Zacean. Please leave.”

There is a long moment in which nothing happens then the soft footsteps of the boy leaving.

Draven puts the tube on the desk next to Galen's shoulder. “Sort yourself out and get dressed. You'll need to be ready to go in ten minutes.”

Draven moves to the other side of the room and starts noisily tapping messages out into a communicator.

Galen levers himself onto his feet, squeezes a generous dollop of bacta out onto his fingers and starts spreading it over his aching lower body. He's barley stepped into his trousers when Draven returns.

“Let's go.”

“I've not got my shoes.” He mumbles anxiously.

“You're not going to need them.”

He's tugged along, shirtless with no shoes on, through the doors out into the yard and over towards the hanger. The hanger doors are open and a small ship is out front.

He realises that Draven means to transport him, but he can't work out why. Or where. If he can't maybe the others won't be able to either. Maybe they won't care.

He goes limp in Draven's grip. Tucks his head down and curls his shoulders inwards looking as beaten and small as possible.

When they reach the paved ground near the hangar, he pulls away and runs in the direction of the forest. He'll take his chances with the wildlife over whatever Draven has planned for him.

Something thuds between his shoulder blades, hitting hard into the newly grown skin and he can feel the new flesh rupture under the impact. He falls, the device fires and his limbs shake then go dead.

“That.” Draven says from above him, “was very, very stupid.”

He's bundled into the fighter.

His head is still lolling, his muscles twitching randomly, he's drooling slightly as he can seem to get the coordination together enough to swallow properly.

He's dragged forwards into the shuttle and dumped onto the floor. A new set of cuffs are clicked around his wrists, Draven roughly manhandles him onto his side.

“Try not to choke.” Is all he says before he leaves.

Galen feels the engines activate, feels the vibrations through the floor, whining into a fever pitch as the shuttle takes off.

He lays his head back and shuts his eyes.

* * *

 

The shuttle lands hours later, his hands are numb and his feet are cold. Draven drags him to his feet, and he stumbles along. Wincing as pins and needles start up in his cold feet.

Outside it's dark, and very cold. It's very windy and he can hear the sound of metal clanking against metal, somewhere in the distance.

“Stay here,” Draven says. Then proceeds to make the statement irrelevant by looping a chain through his cuffs and securing it to the nearby rail.

He watches as Draven walks off down the dark street. Draven knocks on a door, it opens and he disappears inside.

Galen looks frantically around for something to pick the lock on his cuffs. Nothing. 

Talking a deep breath he holds the thumb of his left hand in his right palm, starts twisting it downwards, until with a crack that brings tears to his eyes the thumb comes loose from it's socket.

Wriggling his hand free is horrendous, pain skitters up his arm. Nausea curls in his belly. He's just managed to get his hand free, when he hears the door slam shut further down the street.

He turns and flees into the night.

Behind him he hears angry shouts and he runs faster.

He thinks he's made it, runs around the nearest corner and to his relief there is just a wide open road, not a dead end or an assailant to stop him.

A weight crashes into the backs of his legs and he goes over, crashing into the dirt floor with a cry of alarm.

“Oh, almost. That was a good try.”

His heart sinks as he hears Draven's voice purring in his ear.

There is a sudden burst of language behind him and then Draven rolls off. He makes a last desperate attempt to get up and run, but Draven digs the same taser into his ribs that he had before.

“Make it easy on yourself,” he says almost pityingly, “don't make it any harder than it's already going to be.

There is some more chatter, and it's too quick and the language is too foreign for him to even make out a single word. The cuff that is still dangling from it's chain is gathered up and his arms are pulled behind his back and his wrists are cuffed again.

He's shoved at the newcomer, slips and slides down the wall next to them, ending up on his knees, blinking up at them anxiously.

Draven leaves.

Despite how much he has come to fear the man, watching him walk away, leaving him behind is devastating.

The newcomer, a vaguely humanoid sized creature, with blueish fur and eyes that appear to be all pupil, bares its teeth at him in a gesture that could just be a smile. It's more likely to be a threat though, he knows.

It chitters at him and when he doesn't move, chitters again more angrily.

He follows it numbly, he can't quite believe that he's just quietly going along to what could well be his death, but he can't see any alternative.

He's herded onto another freighter and escorted roughly into the hold, his wrists are cuffed in front of him and he's put into leg irons.

He's left alone in the hold surrounded by boxes and crates. He resets his thumb, the cuffs have been tightened so he's not getting them off unless he cuts his hand off. Or the chain between them. 

It's cold, and he huddles into the corner wishing he'd been allowed to put his shoes on. He wishes he'd been clever enough to leave some record to Cassian that he'd left against his will, in case the other man wants to-

He cuts the train of though off brutally, there had been no rescue last time, there will be no rescue this.

* * *

 

It's probably three days later when the freighter lands, he's been fed twice but slept four times so he can't truly be certain.

His newest captor appears in the doorway with a blaster and motions for him to walk ahead, awkwardly trying to account for the weight of the irons be shuffles forwards.

He is herded off the freighter and into sunshine, after the artificial light it feels too strong and he blinks trying to get his vision to clear.

In front of him there is a large ornate building, there are fountains in the grounds and manicured lawns. He looks around a little overwhelmed, he hadn't been expecting this, he didn't know what he'd been expecting but not this.

Inside is just as elaborate, with large, highly polished, mirrors and rich carpets. He's looking around curiously when he's slapped across the back of his head, he can't understand the word that are chittered at him, but he understands the tone.  _ Stop gawking and get a move on. _

The blasters muzzle is digging into his ribs and he takes a shaky step forwards, then another.

Another of the creatures appears in the doorway, a woman, he thinks, it's smaller and slighter than the first one anyway.

The new creature turns and makes a hooting sound and there is the sound of hurrying footsteps.

Two humans appear, they are dressed head to foot in black clothes and they carry both tasers and night sticks in their belts.

His stomach clenches, there is to be no help from that quarter, he knows.

The creatures make a series of vocalisations and hand gestures at the men and they both nod and walk over.

One grabs one arm and the other grabs his other and together they tug him forwards. He stumbles immediately.

“Sorry.” he gasps, both to appease them and to try and find out if they understand him.

They don't reply.

Instead they lift him off his feet and carry him bodily forwards, clearly unwilling to patiently let him walk on his own.

They pass through the entrance hall and into the corridor behind, as they walk along the surrounds become less sumptuous, until it's all bare walls and wooden floors. 

“Caroelys,” one of the men shouts, “we've got a new one for you.” which neatly answers the question as to whether they could understand him or whether they were just ignoring him. 

A short, plump, dark haired woman appears, and beams around at them all, apparently completely unperturbed that there is a strange man clad in irons in the room.

“Hello, love,” she says, her accent thick but unfamiliar. “Is he here for processing?” she asks the men at his side.

“Yeah, just the usual. Then he's to be taken up to room 326.”

“Oh, 326? You must be well trained?” she says, then looks him up and down critically. “You're very thin,” she says suspiciously, “were your past masters cruel or did you just misbehave?”

He gawps at her, and her smile widens, “nothing to say?” she trills, “well I suppose we’ll all find out, won't we?” He just blinks confused, almost too confused to be afraid. “Come on then, let's get you processed then you can start earning your keep.”

“My...Keep?” he asks, hesitantly.

“Yes, dear. Can't expect to be fed and housed for free, but don't you worry you serve Master’s guests well and you'll be treated well enough. No one goes hungry here. You'll put some weight on soon enough.”

She pulls him along, “Brustus,” she calls to the man that's still trailing after them, his counterpart has disappeared it seems. “Can you take his cuffs off? You'll be sensible won't you?” she asks galen.

The half dazed mumble he makes must convince her.

“Good boy.” 

She flings a door open and they all crowd through, there is a recess in the floor and she goes and fiddles with a keypad on the wall. The recess begins to fill with water.

“Brustus,” she repeats, “his cuffs, if he drowns in the bath, Master will hardly be pleased.”

The big man begins to undo the restraints.

“Be good dear, and this won't take long. You'll be settled into your new room before you know it.”

“My room?”

“Well, yes dear. You didn't think you'd be out on street corner did you?”

His knees buckle as the implications that he'd been trying to ignore since he was sold are confirmed to him.

“Brothel,” he says, more as a statement of dismay than a question, but she replies anyway.

“Of course, dear. What did you think?” she mistakes his head shake of denial as one of confusion. “I suppose it was a less… sophisticated set up at your last place?” she says and then ignores his hysterical giggling. “Well, clothes off and into the bath with you.”

He doesn't move to take off his clothes and Brustus steps up at the click of Caroelys’ fingers and begins to tear them off him. The fabric rends and the seams catch at his skin as they are tugged off. He starts to struggle then relents and let's it happen. His mind whirls uselessly as he tries to work out the best course of action. Outright defiance or should he play along?

He is shoved into the bath by two large hands in the centre of his chest. He goes under the water spluttering and comes up gasping. Caroelys settles on the edge of the bath.

“Now, you stay still and I'll get you all fixed up in no time. He's got a few scrapes, Brustus. Alert the med team, can you? We'll get you all sorted.” she smiles down at him as though he's going to be thrilled. Then dumps a large dollop of shampoo onto his head. It's cold and trials down over the side of his neck. He raises his hands to rub it in but she knocks his hands away firmly and begins to vigorously scrub the gel into his hair herself.

Only a few days ago he was showering using shampoo back in the rooms on Yavin. The rooms he more or less shared with Cassian.

He heart aches.

“Duck under.”

Obediently he slips under the surface. Suspended under the water he considers not coming up. The decision is taken from him when he's pulled up by a bicep.

Caroelys scrubs at him ruthlessly, she clearly doesn't trust him to do a proper job and it's familiar in a way. The guards back on Eadu used to scrub him down in a similar manner. She's more thorough and less violent about it but it's similar enough that old habits kick in and he holds himself still for her hands.

“Alright, out you get.” 

He pulls himself from the water and stands dripping wet at the edge of the tub. 

“Stand still.” She approaches him with a straight razor and he tenses. “You'll need to stand still for this.” She says. She rubs oil into his chest and sets about removing the hair from his body, then his arms, his legs and lastly, from his groin.

He stares straight ahead and tries to prevent none of this is happening. He breathes deeply smelling the mint of his clean hair and the faint orangey tang of the oil. Tries to concentrate on the little things rather than the big picture of his fate.

“All done, love.” She coos up at him, pat's him on the shoulder for good measure. “You were a good boy. I'll tell Master you deserve a treat. Off you go now.”

Naked and shorn he's lead away by Brustus, up two flights of stairs and across a landing. He knows if he's going to make a break for it that now is the time. Possibly his last chance.

He dives off down the nearest corridor, tries to orientate himself towards what must be the way out. 

Immediately, Brustus starts shouting, he ignores him and keeps running.

An alarm goes off and he know he's lost but runs anyway.

They don't even bother to beat him, when they recapture him. It's almost insulting that they can't even be bothered. They simply scoop him up a man at each limb and carry him, starfished and squirming, off to his newest cell.

It's nice, for a jail. Soft fabrics and bright colours. The bed in the centre of the room is large and plush. He stares at it with tears in his eyes as they shut the door behind him. The tears begin to crawl down his face as he hears the lock engage behind him.

He stares at the bed wondering how many times he's going to be taken on that mattress. And how he'll be taken, cruelly, harshly, violently, even passionately.

But always, every single time, against his will.

Tears curve off his face, drop off his jaw. Down his chin.

He curls up in the corner of the room furthest from the door. He sleeps.

When he wakes he makes a huge effort to escape. Paces round and round the room. Tries to break the windows, made from glass at least an inch thick. Searches the room from top to bottom for something, anything that he could use to help escape.

Everything is bolted down or far, far flimsier than it appears. He finds a med kit and gulps when he realises it's for him when he has to heal the injuries his  _ customers _ will leave him with.

Then he finds the box of toys that's been left for them to inflict those injuries with.

In the end he pulls the blanket off the bed and hides in the closet. Shuts the door and curls up and pretends he's safe.

* * *

 

A buzzer wakes him.

He ignores it, but it blares louder and louder becoming more and more insistent.

He pokes his head out to look. On the wall there is a light, it's flickering on and off. He sighs and curls back into his closet.

His door opens and closes.

He freezes. His heart races while sweat prickles under his arms and across his top lip.

Footsteps move across the floor as the intruder searches for him. It's not a large room, there are limited places to look. The fresher, under the bed, in the closet.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, hangs his head so he can hide his face and cries silently.

The door to the closet creaks open.

“Galen?” 

He sits up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash.

“Cassian.” He breathes.


End file.
